Facing the Past
by Weird Roses
Summary: This is a slash fic (SSHP) timed after Harry's out of Hogwarts, and well after the Final Battle that leads to Voldemorts Death. So much has happend to Harry since he turned 14, so much that he's never shared. Now is his time to Face the Past. (Pre OotP)
1. From the Beginning

Disclaimer: I own nothing written by J.K. Rowling. If any of the character resemble you it's sheer coincidence. I'm just writing based on what Rowling has done so far.  
  
A/N This is a slash fic. if you're anti Severus Snape and Harry Potter don't' read it, and don't' send me flames because they're a couple.  
  
Chapter One: From the Beginning  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
I'm a Hogwarts professor now. I have been for the past three years. I never thought, it never occurred to me, that this is what I would be doing with my life. As a child, I never thought about a life with out Voldemort. He was in me, every fiber of my body, in my bones. Worst of all, he was in my mind. There was no way to get him out. Everywhere I went, every step that I took, he was with me. He didn't know, he couldn't have. I knew though, I knew what he was doing. I knew when he was inflicting pain. Even if I could have gotten rid of the connection, I wouldn't have. Doing so would have changed so many things.  
  
Voldemort was ruined while I was in my seventh year. I was there when he died, but I didn't do it. I wasn't the cause of his death. That's what surprised everyone. That was the shock. The Boy Who Lived wasn't so powerful after all. The Boy Who Lived didn't have amazing powers or skills. He wasn't even all that clever or smart. No, his title was a joke. It had no meaning, at least not to the general public. The only thing the title meant was that my mother loved me. It meant that my mother loved me with all of her heart and soul. I didn't kill Voldemort, I wasn't even the one who removed him from power the first time. The first time it was my mothers doing. The last, his own.  
  
That is the irony of it all. All those years spent trying to kill me, they were wasted. Really, I had nothing to do with Voldemort's actions or rather, reactions. He could have reached his goal if he hadn't been so stuck on me. In some ways, he was the most important person in my life. I loathed him as much as he loathed me, but I never had anything to do with what he did.  
  
From the time I was fourteen until I was seventeen and Voldemort was dead, I worked for Albus Dumbledore. I was a part of the Order of the Phoenix. Everyone was united under Albus to fight the Dark that was Voldemort. I never knew everyone who was in it, but I did know some. I did know the two people of whom Albus had the highest expectations. Severus Snape and I were expected to do things that no one else would be capable of. The most was expected of us. From Albus, Snape was expected to lie to Voldemort. Its amazing that he lasted as long as he did. No one lies to the Dark Lord. Sev' did. He did it for Albus. He risked almost certain death, for Albus. Snape looked Voldemort in the eye and lied. Amazingly enough, he got away with it too, everyone one of those countless times. There was nothing that Sev' wouldn't have done for Albus, nothing.  
  
The second person, I knew him well. I knew everything there is possible to know about him. The second person was I. Albus asked me to do things that most would never have been capable of. Like Sev', I did them. No one questioned Dumbledore, he hadn't been wrong in anyone's memory. Albus, it seemed, held all the answers in the palm of his hand.  
  
Out of love and respect for Albus Severus and I gave up our lives. We did everything we could for him, and yet it was never enough. Often I have compared Albus Dumbledore to Mahatma Gandhi. Both men had exceptionally high expectations of those around him and was severely disappointed when those expectations were not met. Once Gandhi's wife told him that the people around him could only try to be as good as he was. She told him that no one could ever be what he wanted to see, but out of love for him many would try, but many would fail. Albus was the same way, he expected so much, too much it seems. We tried, all of us. We all tried to do what he wanted, but in the end, we failed. We failed miserably and it showed in his eyes what he thought of us. He tried to make light of every mistake, but he couldn't. We all knew that we had failed him. Severus most of all.  
  
It wasn't until recently that I learned about Sev's failure. Now I am ashamed. Ashamed of how I hated the man. Ashamed of how I was so blind. I didn't see deceit when it was standing right next to me. I saw betrayal where there was only loyalty. Just as I saw loyalty where I should have seen lies.  
  
I have had eight years to think about what happened that year, and now, it is time for me to write them down. The time has come for me to explain what really happened. Why so many people died and who they were. Their names should be remembered always and their stories should be learned from. This world isn't one of happy endings. This world is one of great surprises. Great happiness is always counted by great sorrow. True loyalty is harder to come by then betrayal in this world. I have suffered them all, and survived. This is my story, the real story of truth and lies, past and present, betrayal and loyalty, and above all else, love and hate.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry set down his quill as Severus Snape walked in the room.  
  
"Morning 'Sev. Did you sleep well?"  
  
Sev grunted as he stretched. "I was sleeping well until you got up. What were doing getting up at four anyway? The students won't be here until tonight and you, as always. have had your lesson plans written out for months now."  
  
"Of course I have. That's not what I was doing." Harry put the cap on his inkwell and turned to face Sev'. "You know all those years ago when I told you I was going to write down our story?"  
  
"Yes." was Sev's slow reply.  
  
"Well, I decided last night that it was time."  
  
As Sev' choose a shirt from his drawer to pull on he responded, "its about bloody time. I was starting to think that you'd forgotten about it. Though you did wait until the last minute before the students start to arrive to begin writing."  
  
"Its not the last minute until I'm about to die. Right now, I don't think there's any risk of me keeling over and falling dead."  
  
Sev's eyes wandered slowly over Harry's body. "No," he drawled, "you don't look like you're about to keel over to me either."  
  
Harry smiled and turned back around to continue putting all of his materials away.  
  
"You eat yet?" Sev' asked from near the fire.  
  
"No, I got up and started writing. Are you hungry?"  
  
"Yes, extremely. We missed dinner last night, or did you forget?"  
  
"No, I didn't forget. I'm rather surprised that you remember, Old Man. On top of your age you were rather drunk last night." Harry smiled at his memory of Snape being so drunk he couldn't walk. It had been the first time that Sev' had forgotten the password to their bedroom. If anyone had told Harry that he would be sharing a room with his Professor Snape he would have laughed and told them they were mad. Now, the idea of NOT being with Snape was terrifying. Sev' was one of the few people in the world that Harry knew he could trust and knew would always understand him.  
  
"Don't call me 'Old Man.'" Sev' snapped at Harry. "And do talk softer, I've got a headache."  
  
"Yes, food will help you take care of that head ache and the stomach ache as well. You'd think that such a respectable Potions master would have some kind of potion for a hang over."  
  
"This potions master does have a cure, as it so happens, but I need food to take it." Severus held up a tiny clear bottle filled with purple liquid. "Now, if you don't mind, I do NOT find headaches to be at all pleasing and I would like to eat."  
  
"Yes, yes I'm coming." With that Harry stood up and walked over to his lover and friend. "let's go then."  
  
"While I would simply love to take you to breakfast in what you're wearing. I'm afraid that the rest of the faculty may not take so kindly to you being in your boxers. Cute as they are with their little golden snitches." Even after all these years, Severus knew that Harry still loved Quidditch. Often he wondered if Harry would have gone pro had it not been for the, accident, as some called it. The man was still every bit as good of a flyer as he'd ever been, as Sev' well knew.  
  
Harry walked to his dresser and Sev' watched him closely. He'd lost the glasses when he disappeared after Voldemort fell. Sev' had never found out why, or how, but he had done it. There were other minor changes in his appearance. The once unruly hair was now tamed. Sev' knew that he used muggle hair gel, and plenty of it at that. It always gave his head a wet look, which suited him just fine in Sev's opinion.  
  
Harry came out of the bedroom, dressed neatly in a green sweater and pair of khakis. That was another thing that had changed about his former student, fashion sense. Gone were the over sized pants and the holey sweaters. Now only clean, perfectly matched clothing adorned the near perfect body. Sev' knew from first hand experience that muscles covered Harry's slender, but not thin, body. Those muscles were hard earned and Harry worked to keep them. He spent at least an hour every day working out.  
  
Aside from those physical improvements, Harry had learned other things. He was now considered one of the worlds top three specialists in Dark Arts. "How did he do it," Sev' wondered for the umpteenth time. "How did he become so good at the Dark Arts in such a short amount of time? Why did he do it at all for that matter? Its not as if he wasn't good at them before."  
  
Harry clearing his throat brought Snape back to his senses. "Am I presentable now, love?"  
  
""Yes, you're ready and we can go eat. You took such a long time I thought I was going to faint from hunger."  
  
Harry was accustomed to Sev's harsh remarks, and took them as part of the person that Snape was. There was nothing that Harry would choose to change about his lover. The man just wouldn't be who he was if there was even one minor change in his personality. Changing Sev' was the last thing that Harry wanted to do, Sev' was the only one that truly understood what he felt.  
  
Together Harry and Sev made their way through the deserted dungeon and empty hallways to the great hall for breakfast. Each man took their customary seat at the table, towards the end of the hall that the Slytherin house table was at. Most of the other teachers had taken their places along the head table. The faces were all familiar, but most weren't the same teachers that Harry had had as a student. Starting at the far end of the table he looked down the row of teachers.  
  
Cho Chang sat at the end of the table, furthest away from him. When Professor Flitwick had died at Voldemort's hand the Ravenclaw had taken his place as both head of house and charms mistress. Seated next to her was Blaise Zabini, the new Arithmancy teacher. Professor Vector was one of the few who hadn't been killed during the final battle. He had been killed by something the muggles called cancer. Vector had never liked magical cures. Continuing down the row brought him to Professor Sprout. She had survived, but barely. The battle had left her with hearing in only one ear. Charlie Weasley had come to take Harry's old friend Hagrid's place. The peaceful, loving giant had been given the demtors kiss by Voldemort. Charlie, he heard was a good teacher. Everyone loved him, including the Slytherin's, which was saying something. Professor Bin's was floating in front of Charlie, it sounded as if they were having a discussion about the goblin rebellions of 53 BC. Oliver Wood had replaced Madam Hooch as flying instructor and Quidditch referee, once his flying days with the Holiday Harpies was over. Harry had never been told what happened to Ximira Hooch. Professor McGonagall. The old Transfiguration mistress and head of Gryffindor house had been sliced in half by a wayward spell from Voldemort. Colin Creevy had been the one to take her place at the table. He wasn't the deputy head master, but he was the new Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor house. To Harry's left was Cybil Trelawny. The woman had vanished the night before the battle, and turned up again, unharmed, three weeks after it.  
  
The only chair along the whole table that was empty was the one that Dumbledore used to sit in. Harry looked away, feeling ashamed of how he had let the man down. The next time he looked, the seat was taken. Hermione Granger had taken her seat at the table. She was now the Headmistress of Hogwarts. While she wasn't an old teacher, she had been one of the few willing to take Albus' place. None grudged her the place; Hermione was one of the few who could fill in where Albus had left off.  
  
Harry sighed with contentment. This was his home, the people who lived here his family. He'd always felt that way. Resting a hand on Sev's knee only proved to make him smile, and remind him that the people he loved were here.  
  
Sev' smiled down at Harry for a moment before motioning towards the untouched plate in front of Harry, "you'd better eat. Your eggs are getting cold."  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
Severus only shook his head. "I sure hope that you never fell asleep in Blacks arms nor that he woke you with kisses when you were running late. If he did, I'd really consider if that's what a father should be doing."  
  
Harry laughed. He had never gotten over nice it felt to have Sev' tease him lovingly rather then with words meant to hurt or provoke. "Planning on torturing your students on the first day, again?"  
  
"Always!" was the prompt reply. "It's been a tradition for a rather long time, I couldn't break it now." Snape unstoppered the bottle and downed the contents. A long swallow of sugar-sweetened coffee quickly followed the potion. "Disgusting, but it works so well."  
  
Smiling Harry finished his meal. "I've got a few last minute things to take care of. I'll see you at lunch." With that said Harry got up and made his way out of the Great Hall and to his office just off of his classroom.  
  
After starting a fire and putting water on to boil, Harry sat down at his desk. A stack of parchment was removed from one drawer. Selecting the sharpest quill he could find Harry dipped the tip into the ink on his desk and began to write.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I'm not sure where to start now. Perhaps, I should start at the beginning. What is the beginning? Is it when Voldemort killed my parents? What about when I found out the truth about what had happened to them? Maybe the beginning is when the Order of the Phoenix was created, and when I joined. Yes, I believe I shall start there. Everything else is already in textbooks.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry read what he had written and decided that it was good enough for him. He could always go back and make changes later.  
  
The water had begun to boil. Harry poured a mug full and added a tea bag. He settled himself once again in his office chair and picked up the quill. Dipping the nib into the ink and he commenced writing, his mind wandered to a time eleven years ago.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was such a confusing time for me. The first casualty of this new war had been lost already. Cederic Diggory, a Hufflepuff. I hadn't meant for it to happen. It wasn't intentional, I swear. How was I to know that the cup had been made into a portkey? There's no indicator, no way to tell. We both won. We were both the champions.  
  
What happened is already written, you know the facts. What you don't know are the feelings. You've no idea what was running through my mind. I killed someone. It was entirely my fault that this boy had died. I'd meant to do the right thing, but that didn't happen.  
  
Nothing with Voldemort ever went right. He always knew the best moment to strike. And his strikes were always hard. He could afford to wait, you see, he was immortal. No mortal weapon could harm him. Magic? Magic could control him, but never kill him. A sword, a bolt of arrows, a gun shot, they would all cause him to stumble for a moment, but in the end, he'd always pick up where he left off. You could deprive him of his hand, but it would grow back stronger then it had been before. His limbs grew like those of a starfish. Even if they were broken off, they could grow back, always grow back.  
  
The night he returned was the most terrifying night of my life. This was the man, thing, which had killed my parents. It was my blood that brought him back. So many things happened that night, things I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, understand for some time to come. I had only prayed that I would be safe if I got back to Hogwarts. I couldn't know if I would be or not. Someone had gotten to the cup, but who? How?  
  
Confused and guilty I made my way back to Hogwarts and to Professor Dumbledore. If anyone could help me, it was him. I made there, I made my confessions but it wasn't enough. Mad Eye Moody, who I would soon learn was Barty Crouch Jr., tried to take me away. He nearly killed me.  
  
I survived, somehow. That night is a blur, for facts you'll have to look it up. I just remember the confusion and the questions. I wanted to curl up and die. I never wanted to face what I had done, or what I had seen. Why, why was the man who had thought my parents to be useless alive again?  
  
Dumbledore came. He made me explain everything. I didn't want to but he said it was for my own good. I look back now, and realize that he was right. If I hadn't been forced to tell then I probably never would have been able to.  
  
Everything hurt and I was tired but afraid to sleep. Shortly after the end of tournament Dumbledore explained the Order of the Phoenix to me. It consisted of people that Dumbledore knew and trusted to help for the side of Light. Immediately I accepted, "Anything to get the bastard" was my thought at the time. OF course, I didn't fully understand what being in the Order would mean. I didn't understand anything at the time.  
  
I hated, still do, Voldemort with all of my soul. He was nothing; he didn't even have a soul. At first, being in the order wasn't hard. Voldemort didn't have strength yet, didn't have a full circle of supporters.  
  
I only knew a few of us in the circle at the time. There was Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Dumbledore and Myself. Those were the only people I knew to be loyal to the light side then. Among the list would be a traitor. At the time, we all thought we were loyal. but we were wrong. Someone would betray us and nearly cost the light side the war.  
  
The reasons for the betrayal were stupid, but it's not my place to judge. Only god, if there is one, can do that. What makes me so angry about this betrayal was that it hit so close to home and the reasons were so selfish. It made me wonder, would I ever be able to trust again?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry looked down at the parchment in front of him and blinked away tears. Remembering this was hard enough. Putting it down in to words seemed an impossibility. "For Sev,'" Harry thought. "He's put so much trust in me for the past three years, now its time to explain what happened to me, and why I am who I am." 


	2. Summer

A/N: When it was mentioned earlier that Oliver Wood flew for the Holiday Harpies, I've been informed that it it's too much like the Holyhead Harpies (which is an all girl team) so pretend that it said that he flew for the Bald Basilisks.  
  
A/N: Whoa. I got reviews. All good. I wasn't expecting to get any reviews. especially not such positive ones. Let me know what I'm doing right and I'll keep doing it. and visa versa.  
  
A/N: This chapter I'll have a beta reader, which should make the reading a bit smoother. I was in a hurry to get my first chapter published.  
  
Katty999- I won't say at this point weather Ron is the "evil" one or not, but you'll find out for sure very shortly. promise.  
  
Ch 2: Summer  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The school term was over. Voldemort was back. Cedric was dead and I was responsible. Everything was terrible, but worst of all I was being sent back to the Dursleys'. I knew that I could never make them understand what I had gone through. Dumbledore had written and tried to explain to them. I only knew because when I got in the car after Uncle Vernon came to pick me up, all that he could talk about was how it served me right to have some "mad man" following me and trying to kill me.  
  
At first I thought he was wrong. Then I realized, he wasn't wrong. I'd made so many mistakes in my short lifetime... So many things were my fault; at least that's what I thought at the time. I went through the summer in terrible depression.  
  
The Durselys' had me working harder then they ever had. They had gotten over their fear of me doing magic, and knew, thanks to Dumbledore, that I couldn't run away. I worked hard that summer. There were so many chores for me to do. The Dursley's house value must have gone up several hundred pounds that summer thanks to all the work I did. I painted the house (inside and out), cleaned the gutters, re-wallpapered the guest bed and bath. One day there was a hard rain and it was discovered that the roof had a leak. The Dursleys hired a man to fix it, but, of course, I had to help.  
  
All these chores were only fitting, I felt. I deserved them after all the wrong I had done. I'd hurt so many people. Done so many things wrong. The chores were a kind of punishment, and I took them as if I deserved them. I had to suffer, after all the pain I had put everyone else through, now it was my turn to feel the pain.  
  
The punishments the Dursley's gave me weren't enough. I soon began to punish myself. The first thing to go was food. I wasn't good enough to eat. I limited myself to what I had been living on while Dudley had been on his diet the previous year. This pleased the Dursleys immensely, less money wasted on me. That should have been the first clue; they were pleased about something I did. I didn't see it though. I was too depressed.  
  
In mid-July I moved myself back to the cupboard. I didn't think I was worthy of having such a large bedroom. Besides, there were too many places that someone could hide in there. I always had to check under the bed or in the wardrobe to make sure that no one was there. This action pleased the Dursleys even more then the first one. I thought the punishment to be very fitting, personally.  
  
By my birthday I'd lost the little extra weight I had to loose. I probably looked like a walking skeleton, I wouldn't know. I have no pictures of myself at that age, at least no personal pictures. None of my friends had a camera, and the Dursleys' most defiantly weren't going to waste film on me.  
  
Early on the morning of July 31, I got out of bed and went outside. I had chores to do and it took me longer to do them now that I had become so weak. Just as the sun was beginning to peak over the houses along the lane, I spotted the first owl. Soon three owls and a parrot had settled along the rail of the porch. Each had a package and a letter.  
  
I set the clippers down (The Dursleys made me cut each blade of grass by hand with a pair of nail clippers and a ruler. not one blade was to be longer then an inch) and took a seat on the steps. One by one I called the birds to me.  
  
The first was from Hermione.  
  
Swiftly I ran my finger between the parchment and the wax seal on the letter. Hermione was always the most understanding one of my two best friends. She never had to ask, "are you alright?" It always seemed as if she knew exactly what I was feeling and why I felt that way. The letter was no different then how it would have felt if she had been there with me. I know exactly what the letter says because I have always kept all of my correspondents. I have never had many.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry set down his quill and looked at the words he had written. "I was so depressed," he thought sadly.  
  
After taking his wand out of the holster at his side, Harry pointed it at the bottom draw of his desk. After muttering a quick opening spell, as well as the password, the drawer opened compliantly. Swiftly he pushed all of the hanging folders to the front and reached way into the back. Out came an old box. The black velvet was fading slowly. The box had been a gift from Hermione in his 6th year, if he remembered correctly. Slowly the dusty lid was taken off of the top of the box to reveal the yellowing papers inside. Each letter was organized both chronologically and by sender. Harry's calloused fingers shifted through the well read papers quickly until he came to the right letter.  
  
The letter was lifted out of the box and opened. Each of the letters in the box had been read thousands of times over, and this one was no exception. Harry's eyes blurred as he read the words silently to himself.  
  
Finished, Harry picked up his quill again and began to copy her words onto the parchment in front of him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Dear Harry, I haven't had a single letter from you all summer. It seems illogical to assume the Dursley's would try and lock Hedwig up, yet again, after all the ruckus she made last time they tried that. Perhaps you're just too busy, most people would think that to be the logical answer. I, however, know better. You've never been too busy to try and write to us. Something's wrong, I can feel it. It's not Voldemort, no, Dumbledore would have told us. The lack of letters could only be one of two reasons: You don't wish to talk to us (which I highly doubt) or you're too upset. I must assume that it is the latter rather then the former. A lot happened, Harry, but you must realize that it was NOT all your fault. Everyone makes their own decisions. You are not the axis on which the world turns and I know you know that. (Sev' is kind enough to remind you of that nearly every day). It is not your fault that Cedric died, he choose to take the cup as much as you did. Please remember that you are not the cause of his death, you were only doing what you thought to be the wisest decision. Cheer up Harry, the world isn't over. There's always another day. I hadn't intend on making this letter sound so dower, but I felt that I had to. Happy Birthday Harry, you're fifteen now. I sent along your gift with the post owl from the post office.  
  
I love you always and forever, Hermione  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry checked the letter over several times, making sure that it was all correct, that he hadn't miscopied somewhere along the way. it didn't seem that he had.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Included with the letter was a bright birthday card. It was cheery and cleverly composed. I thought that it would add a bit of cheer to the inside of my trunk, so I set it aside before reaching for the package from Hermione.  
  
I removed the brown parcel wrapping to reveal bright red paper with golden snitch's fluttering about on it. Under the paper was a box, inside the box, a smaller box. The box was black, long and skinny. Upon opening the hinged box I found a thin golden chain with a small charm attached. The charm was a small glass ball with miniature broom. On the handle of the broom was my name: Harry J. Potter. Tucked into the lid was another letter from Hermione.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry reached up and fingered the charm he still wore around his neck after all these years. It was one of the few bits of jewelry he wore. There was a small silver band around his finger. The inscription along the inside of the band read Severus Sev' and Harry Potter~ October 15, 2002. That was the day he and Sev' had gotten together, though they didn't consider themselves official for some time to come after that. The only other bit was a small link chain circle around his ankle. It acted as a tracing spell that was attached to specific people he had met while he was gone for those five years, although, very few people knew that. Sev' wasn't even one of the ones privy to this knowledge.  
  
Harry's fingers reached for the velvet box again, and this time extracted the second note from Hermione. Quickly he glanced through the short note and began to copy.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry, Do cheer up, love, it is your birthday after all. Hope you like the necklace, when you hold it you'll get a mental image of your two best friends.  
  
Hermione  
  
The message was short, especially compared to the first one, but to me, it signified that Hermione truly cared. As I said before, she always seemed to know what was wrong and what to say to cheer me up. And the gift did cheer me up, for a short time.  
  
Finished with the gifts and letters from Hermione I reached for the letter and gift from Ron. I'm not sorry to say that I can't tell you what the letter says anymore. I burned it. Now isn't the time to say why, but it's gone. All that remains of the letter is the jar full of ash that sits on the mantle piece of the fireplace in my office.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry glanced up at the jar and shook his head. "This hurts too much. I can't do it anymore," he thought. Then he looked to the picture on the far end of the mantle and remembered "For Sev'." The picture was a beautiful one. It had been taken on the day that Sev' had given Harry his ring. Both men were dressed nicely and they were seated at a small table at an Italian restaurant in Diagon Ally.  
  
Harry found his quill and dipped the nib lightly into the ink.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The letter from Ron was short. I remember most of it. Ron assumed that I was dieing to be out of the Dursley's house. I suppose that anyone in their right minds would have been. but I, for one, wasn't in my right mind. The contents of the letter were brief and simply said "Happy Birthday." And something that meant they'd be at my house in a week to pick me up, and that Dumbledore had already given the OK.  
  
I didn't want to go to Ron's house. I wanted to stay where I was and suffer like I deserved. I knew that if I were to go to the Weasley's I would simply be fussed over, and that wasn't what I was looking for. A mental note was made to write a letter and send it to the Weasley's refusing their offer of hospitality.  
  
I opened the Gift that had accompanied the letter and found a miniature Quidditch set. I couldn't see what I could possibly want one of those for but then I realized that along with the balls came tiny action figures of Ron's favorite team, the Chuddly Cannons. When set up properly they would play Quidditch. The gift could be amusing, but I didn't have time to play. I had work to do.  
  
The next letter to reach my hand was from Hagrid. His letters always made me laugh. If anyone needed school it was Hagrid, but he'd been cheated out of the education that he really needed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry's hands flipped through the short notes from Hagrid and found the right one fairly quickly. Upon opening it and reading it he broke into a grin. Leave it to Hagrid to be overly cheerful and be unable to keep any kind of secret.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hi there Harry, Happee Birthday.. hope yer doin' well. Write more often. Yer godfather was up here not too long ago. Said he had a surprise for ye. Ye'll be happy with him.  
  
Love, Hagrid  
  
Somehow the short letters from Hagrid always made me feel good inside. Hagrid was my first friend, after all. I'll always have a special place in my heart for him, I suppose. I can't believe that I went for eleven years with out a single friend. The friendly man was always willing to do anything to make me smile when I was down, and he succeeded. Although, I'm sure that if I had tried to eat any of the rock cake that he had sent for my birthday I wouldn't have been able to open my mouth for several months.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry sighed as he thought about what had happened to Hagrid. The Giant really hadn't deserved what happened to him. Hagrid was the last person to deserve that. Harry's hand came to rest on the photo of Hagrid on his desk. He missed the man and really wished that he were still here to talk to sometimes.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The last bird was a parrot from Sirius. It seems that he was still staying in the sun, even though he was working for Dumbledore now. Sirius was spying at the time, for the Order. I was lucky to even be able to receive a letter from him, now that I think about it. The parrot could probably have been easily traced back to wherever he was staying. If Sirius had been hurt I don't know what I would have done. At the time he was one of the few people that still held me to life.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Gods Sirius, what would I have done with out you?" Harry whispered to the framed photo on the wall next to his desk. The picture only smiled and waved at him. It was a recent picture. It had been taken at a recent family reunion that they had held at Sirius' family reunion in the Scotland mansion where Sirius' family lived. That had been fun. Harry had gotten to meet the family of the man that he had begun to rely on like a father. There were so many of them. More then 50 had been present, and quite a few others had not found the time or energy to attend the reunion.  
  
Harry had no problem finding the letter from Sirius. This time he didn't even bother to read the letter before copying it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Happy Birthday. I'm sorry I haven't written as often as you probably would have liked, but I've been rather busy. Moony and I have been traveling together. We have gotten to know the countryside where we're staying very well, very well indeed. I won't say anymore, must be careful of what we say now more then ever.  
  
As I was saying, Happy Birthday, Harry. If the Dursley's give you any problems write to me and I'll do everything in my power to help you. I wish that I could take you away from them forever, but at the moment it is impossible. Number four Privet drive is the second place safest place for you to be with Voldemort on the loose. My time is short, and my candle low. Happy birthday Harry.  
  
Love, Your Godfather, Sirius  
  
I remember that was the year that Sirius began to say Voldemort's name. I, like Dumbledore, held with the theory that fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. It seems to me that Dumbledore must have insisted that anyone in the Order should call The Dark Lord by his given name, Voldemort. Of course, there were a few exceptions to the rule, Sev' being the main one. He had to address Voldemort properly when in his presence.  
  
I should have been the person in the world who feared Voldemort most. He had killed my parents and he was specifically hunting for me. There was a reward offered to the first death eater that caught me, although at the time, that information had not yet reached my "virgin" ears. Compared to now, my ears were virgin, and I was no innocent back then. Despite all of this, I very much doubt that I was the one who feared Voldemort most. No, I don't think I really feared him, at least not as a person. I feared Voldemort only as a mortal facing an immortal. In all likelihood, I would fail. What chance does a man, boy, still made of skin and bones, a boy with a SOUL, have against a thing with out one. Something that wasn't quite human, but wasn't demon or a god either? No, it wasn't fear that I had felt, but anger, pure, un-bridled hatred. I knew that if I ever got the chance, I would kill him. I didn't care what it took. I didn't care if killing him would be the death of me. I swore to myself, that if the chance ever presented itself to me, I would take it. Voldemort would be dead or I would die trying.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry jumped as the quill he held clutched in his hand snapped in half. "Damn" he swore aloud as he reached for a new quill. It was amazing how just thinking about Voldemort could still make him angry. The muscles in his arms were bunched as if getting ready to throw a punch. His abs were flexed, waiting to receive an imaginary blow. Harry's guts were tied in hard knots and there was a tight, angry lump at the back of his throat. Voldemort was still hated by Harry, oh yes, he still hated him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Voldemort's name will go down in history. The unfair part about that is only the fear that is associated with his name will be remembered. None of the anger and hatred, that I, one of the key players in this whole ordeal, felt will be recorded. No reporter has ever bothered to interview me about what I think of Voldemort. They all assumed that I feared him. How could The-Boy-Who-Lived, not fear Voldemort. It just doesn't seem right that he would feel any other way.  
  
Back to the story I was telling before I went off on my tangent. It was my birthday and I was just finished with my gifts.  
  
After looking at all of my gifts and reading the letters through again, I slipped back inside. Carefully I put the gifts in the trunk in the upstairs bedroom, all but the necklace from Hermione, which I put on. It's been years since I removed the necklace. I put it on the day I got it, and I have yet to remove it, ever. I've even spelled it so that it can't be taken off by anyone but me.  
  
All of my things put away, I went back outside. I had to finish this lawn by nine, and it was already six. The Dursley's would be waking up then and I had to have breakfast ready for them. Dudley was insanely fat at the time. I'm surprised that he didn't have a heart attack until the following year. It's amazing that Uncle Vernon hadn't either for that matter.  
  
It was too long ago to remember many more details now. but I do remember that it was a horrible summer, a summer of punishment. I wrote to the Weasley's and said that I wouldn't be coming to visit. Maybe that's when I first started to push my friend away; maybe the process had already begun. I don't know. I suppose I didn't understand him as well as I thought that I did. Its damn sure that he didn't understand me.  
  
The summer was long and hot, blazing hot. I spent most of it working, and working hard. I must have passed out several times. Sometimes I would wake up and it was like trying to swim through black ink. The Dursley's didn't notice, and moreover they wouldn't have done anything about it if they had. I probably would have been made fun of for it, actually.  
  
The rest of that summer was completely uneventful, unless of course, you count Aunt Petunia beginning menopause. I worked hard and lost more weight then I had to loose.  
  
At the end of summer Dumbledore convinced Uncle Vernon to give me a ride to the station. Really, I had no problem with that. He grumbled the whole time of course, but now I felt that he was perfectly justified in doing so. The words hardly affected me, at least, not in the way that they should have affected a fifteen-year-old boy.  
  
I made my away to the Hogwarts Express and on board. I found an empty compartment and settled down in it. It wasn't until the train was already on its way that Ron and Hermione found me. Both of them were excited, and relived, to see me. I doubt that I was nearly as enthusiastic as I should have been. Ron seemed hurt, I recall, that I had refused his invitation. He refused to believe that I hadn't mind staying at the Dursley's and wouldn't let up until Hermione hit him on the arm, rather hard. Hermione soon picked up on that habit and every time she thought that he was pushing me too hard or saying something he shouldn't have been, she would hit him.  
  
The rest of the trip was spent in quiet conversation, both were careful to avoid topics about how I must have looked, for which I was grateful.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Leaning back in his chair Harry let out a soft sigh. This wasn't fun. He needed to find something else to do. The clock on the wall said that it was nearly 11:30.  
  
After putting all of the papers into the folder he had made for them, Harry shrunk them to pocket sized and slipped them into the back pocket of his pants. The quill and ink were put back in their proper places. The last thing to be put away was the box of letters. It was funny how happy memories could provoke such dark thoughts. Harry glanced at the scar on his wrist then groaned. "NO!" he thought fiercely, "I will not think about that until I have to. The time hasn't come yet, and perhaps it won't until come until late in the school year. At very least it won't be today." The sleeves of his sweater were pulled to the center of his palms and he left his office muttering the spells to activate the warding spells on the room.  
  
Harry walked to his rooms. The dungeons seemed darker today then they had in a long time. "Damn, this is not good." When the stones in the wall changed their pattern slightly Harry muttered the password (Welches geht in , muß erscheinenden) and went in. There was a fire burning brightly "Thank the gods!" and Harry sank to the ground in front of it. Immediately he was lost in thought as he stared at the blue and purple flames licking the wood that never had to be replaced.  
  
It wasn't until Harry felt strong arms warp around his shoulders that Harry looked up. "Hullo Sev'" Harry leaned back and rested his head on Sev's shoulder.  
  
"Thinking about what happened" the question was murmured softly in his ear.  
  
"Mmhmm."  
  
Sev's strong fingers gently rubbed Harry's arms soothingly. Harry sighed in contentment and turned his head so his nose was buried between Sev's neck and shoulder. The long hair from the older man brushed his face as Sev' bent his head. "You smell like you've been in your lab."  
  
"I have been." Pale hands sought Harry's. Gently Sev' rubbed and warmed Harry's hands. The right was splattered with ink. Sev' smiled softly and kissed Harry's forehead. "Are you hungry? Its past noon."  
  
"No. I just want to stay here."  
  
"Alright, we can do that." Sev' continued to hold Harry's hands, but settled more comfortably behind him. Now he had one leg on either side of Harry and could hold him properly. It was times like this that Sev' was content and happy. Before he had Harry nothing had really been stable in his life except Hogwarts.  
  
After a few minutes Harry kissed Sev's neck softly. "Love you."  
  
"Mmm, I love you too, Harry."  
  
"We can go eat now. You're hungry."  
  
"No, no, I'm fine. I'll wait until you're ready."  
  
"You spent all morning in your lab. You're always hungry after you work in your lab for so long. Although I'm not too sure why. you don't actually work in there." Harry teased gently. He received a light slap for his remark."  
  
"Oh hush. I work hard and you know it."  
  
"Yes, I know it."  
  
"Then why do you make comments like that?"  
  
Harry chuckled softly and sat up, "because I like to see you explain your reasons to me."  
  
Sev' groaned and got to his feet before offering his hands down to Harry, "C'mon, I'm hungry now."  
  
"You're always hungry." Harry took them anyway, and got to his feet.  
  
"Indulge me."  
  
"Only if you indulge me later."  
  
"Perhaps, perhaps," was the chuckled reply. Harry grinned at Sev's answer. He liked the sound of Sev' laughing. Sev' wasn't one to laugh overly often.  
  
As the two men walked to the Great Hall Harry asked, "Are you ready for the students to get here?"  
  
"Am I ready for the brats you mean?"  
  
"Careful. I was one of those 'brats.'"  
  
"What'd you mean you WERE one, you still ARE one!"  
  
"I am not." Harry pouted jokingly "I'm gonna tell my daddy on you. And he'll get you fired! He's on the board of advisors, remember?"  
  
Sev' smirked "Like I said, you still are one."  
  
Harry laughed. "Well, anyway, are you ready for the rest of the brats to get here?"  
  
"Not entirely. Everything is all prepared, but I still dislike having all of them here. They're so loud and noisy. Always sneaking about the castle after they should be in bed. Not to mention the fact that they're messy and they make so many mistakes. I pray to the Gods above that at least one of the first years will be able to brew a proper potion."  
  
"Maybe you make them nervous," Harry suggested for the thousandth time.  
  
"I try to do that. If they can create a proper potion under pressure then they will be able to do it any other time. It makes them stronger." Was the same reply that Harry always got.  
  
"Oy, stronger! Everything is about making them stronger people."  
  
"Well, it worked for you didn't it?"  
  
"How would you know if it worked for me?"  
  
"I don't. but I was hoping that you'd tell me where and why you disappeared for five years."  
  
"Not now, Sev', not now. Soon, I promise. I'll write. I'll tell you. You'll know, but not now." Harry took his lovers hand and gently kissed the back of it. "I promise," he added softly.  
  
Severus turned to face Harry. Gently he cupped the younger's face and forced him to look up. "I know you do. Its just that you've been promising me the same thing for years now. I'm getting impatient, but I'll wait." With that he kissed Harry softly.  
  
Harry groaned inwardly, he knew that he owed Sev' an explanation, but it was so hard. So much had happened during those five years. It was during those five years that he had discovered so many things. "Soon, love, soon. Now let's go eat." Both men went to their places in the hall and had their meal in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.  
  
When lunch was over they listened to the last few announcements given by Hermione. They were the usual start of term announcements made for the teachers before the students got there. It was always the same boring dribble: who's patrolling which nights for students and were, students with special problems that the teachers should be aware of but not make a fuss over unless it was called for, the teachers own time tables so they would know where each student was supposed to be and who they would have when. any other number of announcements that were mostly pre-student dribble.  
  
The minute Hermione was done both men when back to the rooms in the Dungeons. Sev' murmured the password and the walls let them through. Sev' went directly to his lab with a mumbled "I've got to finish a couple potions for Poppy before tomorrow."  
  
As the door snapped shut behind Sev', Harry took a seat on the couch and pulled out a book he was reading. Harry was so lost in the book that he didn't realize that it had grown late until Sev' kissed him on the top of the head. "Dinner time, love. The students'll be here by the time I get to the infirmary and back to the Great Hall." Harry looked up at Sev' and smiled, the man always looked more relaxed after he'd been in his lab working.  
  
Harry stuck a bookmark in the book and closed the book gently before setting it softly on the table next to the couch. "Let's go then." Together Sev' and Harry walked to the infirmary then to Sev's office. They followed the passage from there to the Anti Chamber of the Great Hall. Together they slipped into their seats at the long head table. The Sorting Ceremony had already begun. By the time it was over the relaxed, happy, look was completely gone from Sev's face. He glared at all the students, but Harry knew that he was happy they were here.  
  
Dinner came to a close and Hermione made her announcements to the students. Nearly everyone left as a group, but a few came to the head table to greet their professors. "Evening Professor Andrews, I'll see you in class tomorrow." Harry waved to the Head Girl and got up to leave with Sev'.  
  
The students left, and Harry and Sev' went to their room. Both of them striped down to their boxer. Sev's were plain black silk, like he always wore, Harry noted. Sev' climbed all the way to the back of the bed, so he was nearly against the wall and Harry followed. Long arms wrapped around Harry from behind. "Night Harry"  
  
"Night Sev'" both men were silent as they thought. Harry's mind went over everything he'd written earlier. He knew that it was all the truth, but it was so dark. "Was my life really so. black? Everyone thought that I led the light life. I suppose it just goes to show you, there really is no black and white in the world. Only shades of gray, some lighter and some darker. Even the angel has to have some dark or he wouldn't be able to appreciate the light in which he lives." Eventually Sev's breathing became regular against Harry's back and Harry was able to sleep as well.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
AN: If you're wondering what the password says find an online translator, it's German AN: Please, please, please review! I don't want fluffy "ohh that was good" reviews other. I want in depth reviews.. Tell me what I'm doing wrong and what I'm doing right. How much more do you want about Harry and Sev's relationship? Am I pushing this along too fast, should I slow down? Right now I'm thinking this will at very least have a sequel (I know I'm only on the second chapter. but I can feel it) 


	3. Visions

Dawnie: I'm sorry I didn't make it clear enough last chapter. If you don't understand it now, I'm certain that you'll understand who Prof. Andrews is by the end of the chapter. It would make it too obvious and I'd be forced to give away too much detail if I were to tell you exactly who is. You will understand shortly, I promise. Perhaps even in this chapter, next at the very latest. sorry for the confusion.   
  
Chapter Three: Visions   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
It was the first class of the year. I had been up for hours before I'd even gotten out of bed to get dressed, which, I suppose, isn't surprising considering the amount and frequency of sleep I got during the summer. When I finally heard Ron stirring in the bed next to mine I knew it was time to get up. For the next three years that would be how I knew when to get out of bed. I didn't get much sleep my last few years at Hogwarts, and that's not to shun Hogwarts. They most defiantly had the most comfortable beds that I had ever slept on. I just couldn't sleep anymore. The visions and memories came too often, the pattern of sleeping for less then 6 hours, never more then two straight, became ingrained in my mind.   
  
As I was saying, it was the first day of classes. I got up and dressed in silence with the rest of the boys who shared my dorm. None of them were morning people. I didn't mind, it gave me time to think about the visions I'd had the night before. It gave me time to think of what I needed to tell Albus, and what would be of no help. It became a routine, every Wednesday night at eleven I would sneak out of the dorm and go to meet Albus, always, it seemed, there were no teachers along my route. No Filch or Mrs. Norris, and to this day I am unsure as to whether it was planned by Albus, or simply coincidence.   
  
Once Ron and I were dressed we trooped down to meet Hermione in the common room. It was during the summer that she had finally hit true puberty. I remember because that was the year that Ron went girl crazy, especially for Hermione. Hermione cut her hair and had taken to using Muggle gel, which she bought by the case at a warehouse store and brought with her to Hogwarts. Her chest was also much larger and the shirts she had bought for the start of school much lower cut. When she wasn't wearing her robes, you could see that she had curves in all the right places. I may be Sev's lover now, but then, I was interested in only girls, at least that's what I told myself.   
  
We sat at the table in the great hall. During my meal of fruit and pumpkin juice the Prefects, that would be Hermione and Dean, passed around the timetables. Before I even had a chance to open mine, Ron groaned. Looking at the timetable I discovered that we had Potions first, double with Slytherin. I agreed with Ron. Snape AND Slytherin at the same time, first thing every Monday morning, did NOT sound like a pleasant way to start the week.   
  
Eventually we couldn't put it off anymore, we had to go to class. We walked slowly to class and when Ron and I tried to take a seat in the back Hermione forced us to sit closer to the front. Most of the time she did things like that, always forcing us to the front. This was the one class that she ever allowed us to sit in the back in. But, that day, for some reason, she wouldn't let us sit there.   
  
This class was different from the usual ones. Snape seemed, less there, as if his mind were anywhere but on the class he was teaching. Always, when we would start a potion, Snape was more in tune, more there then other times. Yet, at this particular class was the one and only time I ever saw him make a mistake. At the time, it was strange, and now that I know him so well, it's amazing.   
  
As usual the class started with a synopsis of what we were supposed to have read over the summer. Then an introduction to the potion. Twenty minutes after the bell for class to begin had rung, we started the potion.   
  
Snape worked while we did, creating his own potion. It was the same one, he always worked the same potion that we were while we did, generally much faster then the class so that he could walk around and take points off. This was a simple potion, especially when compared to the potions that Snape has been known to make.   
  
The class was silent and all of us were working on our own potions. Suddenly there was a huge bang at the front of the room. Every pair of eyes in the room looked up and saw that an explosion had blackened our Professor. His cauldron was no more and there was only a small puddle of green liquid where have been a stone desk. Snape looked furious, but whether that anger was directed towards us for staring, himself for screwing up, or whatever was distracting him so much that he messed up. No matter what the reason, we paid. We were yelled out of the classroom and both houses lost points for any excuse Snape could come up with. By the time every last person was out of the classroom and the door was locked shut, Gryffindor was in the negatives and Slytherin was in the single digits.   
  
That was the one and only time that I'd ever seen Sev mess up a potion. He was livid for a week, and everyone hurt for it. All of the houses lost hundreds of points, but that was mostly made over by the teachers who were more liberal with points that week.   
  
I never did learn what upset Sev so much, but he was. I did, however, learn why Hermione wanted to sit in the front that day. She said that she saw Snape at breakfast and that he looked lost, she wanted to keep an eye on him. Apparently he had added an ingredient not on the list to his potion and that is why it blew up. All of the ingredients listed for that particular potion couldn't make the potion explode no matter how badly it was botched. I don't really care for the technical explanation of this, all I know is that I don't ever want to see Sev' that upset again. It's hell.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Harry blotted his papers dry and put them in the folder that went in his pocket, as the bell for class to begin rang. Small students began to filter into the room and Harry glanced at his schedule to see whom he was teaching. First year Gryffindors. "Damn," Harry swore silently. "There isn't a worse way to start the morning, except, maybe first year Slytherins. They're all cocky and strut around like they have sticks up their arses." As the students settled into their seats Harry leaned back against his desk and watched, arms crossed over his chest.   
  
"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name, as most of you know, is Professor Andrews. The United Nations of the Wizarding World consider me one of the top three masters of the Dark Arts. They rely on me and my colleagues as guides to unusual magics, particularly the Dark ones. I know my trade well, and have the scars and experience to prove it. I can teach you how to speed up time to your particular needs. How to create a werewolf from a harmless one. How to kill every living soul with in ten miles with out performing a single illegal curse, but all of that comes with a price. No magics in the world don't have their prices. The ones that are taught in this school have minimal costs. The most expensive ones can cost you your soul in exchange for a few hours of ultimate power, which will leave you with nothing when your time is up.   
  
"I've been teaching here for only three years, but I know my way around here better then most of you will by the time you graduate. I know the people. I know the grounds, and most of all, I know the Castle. I highly suggest you stay on my good side, I've heard that my bad side is even uglier then this." That said Harry turned and walked to the black board hanging on the wall. "I expect that you come into my classroom silently and await instructions. If, for any reason, I am not in my classroom by the time the bell rings, you will sit in your seats and remain there until I or another teacher come to the room. I will know," Harry pointed to a small gargoyle above the entrance to the room "if you move from your seat."   
  
Harry lifted a holder with chalk in it. He had always hated chalk, and hand spent several weeks, after he first became a teacher, coming up with a way that he would never have to touch the nasty stuff again. This was the result. A small wooden pen with a hole in the tip that he could insert chalk in magically and hold to write. Of course, he could always just use magic to write what he needed, but that got to be rather annoying sometimes and it just wasn't worth the effort required.   
  
"We will start from the beginning in this class. You, I assume, know little or nothing about the Dark Arts or any other magics that are not your own." Harry wrote as he spoke to the class. "You may wish to take notes. Today is the only day that I will outline what you will learn in all seven years.   
  
"In your first through fifth year, you will study magics that you can do yourself, being a normal witch or wizard with normal skills and not having mutated your body, soul or magics in any way. These are considered to be the lower level Dark Arts. In studying and finding understandings of these magics you will know how and if you can protect yourself against them. Some magics are impossible to protect yourself from.   
  
"First year is devoted entirely to countering low to medium class charms, hexes, curses, and spells that are designed to harm you physically, mentally, or both. Some of these spells you will learn to cast yourself, others I will cast on you. All of them you will be able to block, deflect, move away from, turn back to the caster, or dissolve, by the time you leave this class room. If you cannot protect yourself from even ONE of the spells it will be impossible for you to pass my class.   
  
"Second year is very much like the first. You learn to do all of that, only with higher-class spells. They're more complicated and much more powerful.   
  
"Third year focuses on spells that the ministry considers illegal. By this year you will know many of the techniques that the Arours use when they're working. I have special permission from the LON to use any spells that I know at any time. If I felt it appropriate right now, I could cast Avada Kavada on you with out any worries about ever going to Azkaban or receiving the Dementors kiss. I have permission to cast any spell I know at any time that I feel the need to. Generally I choose not to cast those spells, but I have been known to use them to save my life. Life is a precious thing, and it is human instinct to do all they can to save their own lives. When a human loses that instinct you know something is seriously wrong.   
  
"Fourth year. You know how to counter spells now, but what about physical attacks? The smartest wizards know how to use their forces wisely. You learn tactics this year, how to place your troops to your advantage. How to properly use your people where. Tactics. If you don't know chess now, I suggest you learn it before your fourth year. It's an important game that can teach you more then you realize, if you care to look. You may be up against muggles, and even a wizard can be defeated by muggles. They are usually harmless, but if they get it into their heads, they can destroy you. You must understand them, and their ways. It could be vital to your existence.   
  
"Fifth year is your last year for the human arts. No more fluffy fun stuff. This year I prepare you for the OWLs. They're hard, and I make them that way. I will select the top six students of the year to take my advanced OWLs. This year is spent entirely on YOU preparing for the OWLs in all classes. The Dark Arts are not confined to spells, but they're open to any number of other places. You will learn how to combine everything you've learned so far. Take notes, and keep them. They'll help you pass my class.   
  
"Sixth year brings us out of the human lessons. Now you learn about the animals. Sure Charlie will teach you about magical creatures, but he can't very well bring a werewolf to the school, can he? I can, and will. They're not as bad as they're made out to be, most of them don't want to hurt people, but it is generally, in their natures. I cannot change one's nature. Werewolves are only dangerous during the full moon. In this year you will learn ways to repel, create, and destroy Dark Magical creatures. Everything from Demetors to Vampires. Hinkypunks to grindylows, although they are easy enough to defeat. This is the year that you'll learn them because it is the only time I have to fit them in. In less then three months we will go through the entire course I took in my third year on this subject, and you will know the topics better then I did at the time.   
  
"You've made it this far, now we're into seventh year. NEWTs this year. It'll be hard, I promise. We're going to move out of the animals and humans range, into other creatures. Giants, Elves, dwarves and any number of other nonhuman, but intelligent creatures will be studied. You will learn a bit about all of their magics, but obviously not how to perform them, for you can't. You will learn how to protect yourselves against them. This is also the year that you will study the dead. Nothing can be brought back to life, but things can be given the semblance of life. Dead creatures are the most dangerous creatures of all. They are the hardest to defeat for they crave Life and the Living more then anything. You can't even cast a killing spell on them, for they are already dead. You will, however, learn how to keep them away. If you're clever enough, you'll even learn how to defeat them."   
  
As Harry spoke the last words he finished writing the outline of his classes on the board. "Are there any questions?" Harry looked around at the students who were shocked, but diligently copying. No one asked any questions so he continued. "As I said before, this is the one and only time that I will go over what I intend on teaching. This is just short, nothing in-depth. But, if you do as I advise and create a notebook full of your notes, this could make a nice table of contents.   
  
"I don't know what rumors you've heard about me. Some think that I'm the greatest teacher they've ever had. Others think I give too much homework, or not enough. Some hate my guts and think that I'm the last person that should teaching at Hogwarts. You must make your own decisions about me and what I teach. After the fifth year this class is optional. I will let you know that at the moment there is not a single student in this school who is not taking my class. Decide what you will and in the meantime, you are dismissed." As Harry said dismissed the bell that signaled the end of class rang and the students hastily finished copying and putting all of their books away before filing out of the classroom. Just before the first student left the room Harry called out "Be on time tomorrow, if you're not you will be left out of class and be unable to rejoin. We start on with me cursing each and everyone of you." The students were startled and left the room wondering exactly what to make of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.   
  
"Perfect," Harry thought, "they're scared and they don't know what to expect. I love it." Harry settled back at his desk and took out the papers to begin writing before the bell rang to start his next class.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
That night I went to bed when Ron did, not expecting to sleep much, but as it turns out I didn't sleep at all. First Ron wanted to talk about girls in general. Slowly he made brought the topic around to how hot Hermione had become. It seemed that she and Ron had kept in very close contact over the summer, through letters and the fire. Yet none of us had actually seen either of the others all summer long. We didn't even get our supplies together. Hermione got hers before she left for vacation, Ron on the day that we usually all met, and I had ordered mine by catalogue then had them delivered to Hogwarts. I've always been a decent letter writer; I just never had anyone to write to.   
  
I drifted off when Ron did; only I didn't actually sleep. I dreamt. Whenever I had dreams I never felt like I had actually slept. It felt like I had been standing there, at Voldemort's side. I could feel the magic that was used. Hear the screams. See every face, hear every sound, smell every thing. I never forgot a detail from those dreams. It was like a muggle video camera. I learned that none of the details were wrong either. Human memory can change the color of a car, or a number on a license plate, but these dreams were embedded in my mind. They were never wrong. I was there with Voldemort. I was at his elbow and I was powerless to stop him.   
  
Nearly every night I saw, felt, and smelled the man I hated more then I loved life itself. There was nothing I could. I couldn't touch him or any one else. I was like a ghost, or what some would call an angel. But, if I was an angel, Voldemort was the devil and I was on the brink of falling into a burning hell of magic. I wanted to kill, and what's more, I wouldn't have had a single misgiving about it. I wasn't the pure, innocent boy that everyone thought I was. I wanted to kill. I wanted to feel Voldemort's blood run though my fingers. I wanted to hear his scream, his plea for me to stop. I wanted to speak a magic so powerful that it striped my vocal cords dry and left me with out a voice. I wanted to see the man that had killed my parents, dead, and I wanted to be the one who did it. It was times when I felt that way that I most sharply remembered that the Sorting Hat had suggested I be in Slytherin.   
  
That night, the night after our first day back I had the worst vision I'd ever had, or ever would have. The minute my eyes closed and my mind relaxed into sleep I was wake again, only not physically. I was standing at Voldemort's side, in what appeared to be a muggle shopping mall. Around me were death eaters.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Harry was forced to put his pen down as his next class began to wander in. He smiled, this was the class he enjoyed teaching most, fifth year Gryffindor Slytherin combined class. While waiting for the bell to ring Harry leaned on the front of his desk. He spoke to a few of the students, some of whom he was giving privet tutoring to. There were several adept students in this class, two in particular he might even recommend to those who had taught him the Dark Arts. The second the bell rang Harry began to bark orders. "Pens, paper, maps of England with magical sites marked, floating colored stones, and wand, all off them on your desk. First, though, I want you to move your desks into a circle in the center of the room." In less then two minutes the class was exactly where he wanted it. "Perfect." Harry stood in the place that was automatically left open for him. After removing his own wand from his holster he created a huge 3-D map in the center of the circle. "You have studied tactics. You know their dynamics inside and out, now it is your turn to apply what you know. You have 5 minutes to work individual placing the people, animals, and creatures on the list on your map." He passed a stack of parchment to the person on his left who took one and passed it on. "The opponent and their positions are on the large map, you may use green and blue stones to mark where they are on your maps. When the five minutes are up you will get into small groups of 4, your usual groups, and figure out, collectively, where to best put them. Each group will then present, in less then 2 minutes exactly what your plans are. As a group we will analyze your decisions and make corrections. When everyone has gotten a chance to present we will figure out the best plan as a group." Harry clapped and the class quickly, and most of them excitedly, got to work.   
  
Harry set a small timer on his desk and sat down to write while everyone else worked   
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
At first I couldn't focus on anything around the room, just the death eaters. Slowly the background came into focus, we were in a Muggle house. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it exactly. As I watched death eaters dragged the family down the stairs into the large living room, which had been cleared. The Mother and Father came first, each had two death eaters escorting them. The oldest son came second, it looked to me like he was in the Muggle Army, but I could have been wrong about that. Then his girl friend, by what she was screaming and the fact that she was wrapped in only a sheet, walked by, screaming. A 13-year-old girl came next, she had freckles and a pair of glasses and was clutching a book to her chest. Sev' came last, carrying a pair of baby twins and pushing a young boy in front of him.   
  
The death eaters parted to let the family through. They were thrown into the middle. Sev' thrust the babies at the parents once the parents were sitting, trying to protect their family. Voldemort announced that since this was the last stop of the evening, it was time he let his loyal death eaters have their fun. Each group was allowed to choose a group and do anything they wanted with them, as long as by the time they left in a half an hour the family member was dead, except the twins.   
  
I watched helplessly as every member of the family, including the twin babies, were raped. When the twins were being raped the mother and father were forced to watch. Spells were cast on their eyes so they couldn't blink, they couldn't look away, they couldn't do anything but scream and beg for them to stop. I was as helpless as they were, even if I tried to look away I couldn't. I always was forced to focus my attention where Voldemort was. He was particularly intent on watching this. He always looked happiest at times like that.   
  
By the end of that evening, Voldemort was ecstatic. People had been gutted, skinned, tarred, hung, raped or forced to rape something or someone (the father was forced to rape his thirteen year old daughter), slowly killed, been castrated, or something else even more horrific. The girl friend had been killed when a knife was shoved up between her legs and she was cut from the inside out. Her scream was blood curdling, and I can still hear it today. She was tied by the wrists from a beam in the ceiling and left to hang like that, bleeding to death and in pain, her boyfriend and his family dead or being killed around her.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Harry was slightly pale and sweating when the timer went off and he put his pen down. He gave the class a few extra minutes while he collected himself. The scream was still ringing in his ears by the time he rose and walked forward to watch the class present their information. He was glad that his class understood exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. They understood each other well, Harry and his fifth year students. Each and everyone of Harry's students aimed to please him, even if he was a bit stingy with the house points.   
  
The rest of the classes until lunch went smoothly. The seventh years were particularly easy, not a single uncompleted homework assignment. The discussion went well and lasted easily throughout the period. When lunchtime came around, Harry was found at his desk writing again. Now that the process had begun, it was far easier to let all of his old memories go. Lunch found Harry sitting at his desk in his classroom, writing.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
All of the visions before then had been horrendous, but this was by far the worst one I'd ever had. I prayed to every god I had ever heard of never to let me See anything like that again, alas, my prayers would not be answered. I had thousands of these dreams during Voldemort's second reign of terror. He committed so many heinous acts, had such inhuman physical features, thought like such an animal, that it is impossible to think of him as anything but a monster. Every time he did anything that even indirectly hurt another person, I knew about it, I felt it, saw it, smelt it, lived it.   
  
Every time I had a Vision, as I had begun to call them, it did nothing but remind me of how incompetent of a hero I was. I knew all of these things. I knew exactly where they were happening, but I was never able to stop a single one. I felt that in someway, everything that happened was my fault. It was as if I wasn't good enough to help the world. I had saved the world so many times, but now, I was helpless. I had all of this knowledge, but it was useless. Nothing could have been done to prevent the things from occurring, they were happening as I was seeing them.   
  
As the year progressed, my Visions only got worse. That first Vision, it was just the beginning of a three-year battle with evil. I was a good guy, forced to suffer the fate of a bad one. I had all of the pangs of guilt that the dark side should have been feeling.   
  
It was hard to work around the visions. When fifth year started I had perhaps one Vision per night. Every Wednesday night I would leave the dorm room at eleven and make my way to Dumbledore's office to give him my report. I kept all of the dreams in a journal. I kept the locked journal under my mattress. If the other boys had found out I kept a journal I have no doubts in my mind that I would have been ridiculed. I made sure that no one knew about my Visions. Before I went to sleep at night I would put locking charms on the curtains around my bed. I put silencing charms on myself, for I was always afraid that I would say something during the night and someone would hear me. Ron didn't know about the visions, none of my friends did. Hermione may have suspected, but she didn't know for sure. I worked around the visions. I didn't sleep much. I was always tired and I was still thin, but that couldn't be avoided. The Visions were a part of my life, but I was determined to not allow them to rule me.   
  
I used the visions as inspiration to work harder. It was my personal goal to over come Voldemort, and the Visions fueled my burning passion to rid the world of what was so completely evil that there are no words to describe it. In my mind, Voldemort was synonymous to "Lucifer", "The Devil", "The Fallen Angel" etc. I felt the need to work harder in my classes. I read everything I could. I devoured more books that year then even Hermione. My grades increased ten-fold. I went form a "C" average student to nearly an "A" average student. I specifically studied the Dark Arts. I convinced our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to give me extra lessons. Every Monday night I would make my way to Mrs. Figg's classroom for lessons. Any book having anything to do with the Dark Arts I read. I memorized and studied, and wrote about and analyzed everything.   
  
Of course, Dark Arts weren't the only thing that I studied thoroughly. I took up potions as well. That was the year that my relationship with Sev changed. He learned that I wasn't prissy hero boy who felt that he could coast through anything. Sev learned that I tried and was willing to work my scrawny little ass off. After realizing what I was willing to do, Sev started to help me. He helped me brew complex potions and lent me books to read about potions. His collection of Potions Books is amazing. We have our own personal library connected to our rooms in Hogwarts, and at the time, I learned later, Sev had already started that library.   
  
I studied harder in other classes as well, but those were the two topics that I concentrated my efforts on. When I took my OWLs that year, I got beginning, intermediate and advanced in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. The other classes I took beginning and intermediate in. I was proud of myself. It was proven, to both myself and others, that given the right motivation, I could do anything.   
  
The Visions were an obstacle, but I had over come them. I had used them; instead of letting them use me. Life wasn't perfect, but I was getting through it.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Slowly Harry set the quill down and rose from his chair with a groan. "Three chapters down, gods know how many more to go." Harry said to the blackboard. The bell had rung and already a few students were filtering into the class. By the time the second bell had rung every desk in the room will occupied and Harry stood up to begin his class. "Here we go," he thought as he began the lecture.   
  
"Pass up your homework." Harry collected papers from each student and stuck them in a pile on his desk. "Today we begin our unit on Vampires."   
  
The class went quickly and well. As did all the rest of the classes that day. It was, all in all, a very smooth first day. No hectic scheduling mistakes for Hogwarts, everything was fairly simple to organize. When the final bell rang everyone, including Harry, trooped off to their rooms.   
  
Harry walked straight through the main room of the suite and to the door on the right on the wall directly opposite the entrance. This was Harry's favorite room of the suite. Wall to wall bookshelves that were ceiling to floor packed with books. Most of the books in the room were either on potions or dark arts, the rest were on a couple of other subjects but they were not as extensive. Harry sat at the double desk in the middle of the room and set his file of papers on the desk.   
  
Writing more tonight would have been too painful. He hadn't told anyone about those visions for years and he had done everything in his power to force down the memories. Now he was reliving them all in vivid detail.   
  
Harry was still lost in thought when Sev came and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've got a visitor, Nero."   
  
"Who is it?"   
  
"You'll have to see for yourself." Together Harry and Sev walked out of the library and to the main room. Upon seeing whom his visitors were Harry nearly fainted. 


	4. Bleeding

A/N: I've been asked by a ton of people so I'll clarify. partially. Harry Potter is now known as Nero Andrews. Why, I won't explain just yet. He'll explain it, eventually. I know that it's a little hard to understand, but hang with me. Only a few people know that he's actually Harry. Snape is obviously one of them. Just hang with me and it'll all become clear.  
  
Facing the Past  
  
Chapter Four: Bleeding  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry was still lost in thought when Sev came and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've got a visitor, Nero."  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"You'll have to see for yourself." Together Harry and Sev walked out of the library and to the main room. Upon seeing whom his visitors were Harry nearly fainted.  
  
After gaining his composure, Harry threw a fit. He started a monologue that just kept going, and going and going. Every other word out of his mouth was one of those "four letter words" that little kids aren't allowed to utter. Question after question came pouring out. Why are you here? What do you think you're doing? How do you know who I am? How can two bloody muggles even BE here? Why bother coming? Did something happen? Do you honestly think I would CARE if something happened? It was a full 20 minutes before Harry had calmed down and shut up enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise.  
  
Harry's aunt and uncle looked confused. Who was this man that was standing there screaming at them? "Who. who are you?" Uncle Vernon finally was able to ask.  
  
"The god damn kid who grew up in your god forsaken house for 17 years. That's who I am!"  
  
"But, you look so different."  
  
"Vernon," Petunia was tugging on his sleeve. "Vernon, its him. Its Harry."  
  
Harry resisted the urge to childishly mimic his aunt and contended him self with asking a few questions. "I don't even want to speak with you. I don't understand why you're here. And frankly, I don't give a damn. Get out!"  
  
"Well see here young man," the fat cow that Harry had once known as Uncle Vernon began- and would have continued had Harry not cut him off.  
  
"No, you see here! This is MY Home, this is MY grounds, and I am NOT a 15 year old boy any more. I am a grown man who is going to stand his place. YOU listen to ME. I do not want you to be here. I don't care why you're here. You are no longer a part of my life. I don't dread what you'll do to me over the summer. I don't give a flying fuck if you're about to go bankrupt. I will not give you money. I wouldn't even bat an eye to wipe a way a tear if you told me that someone was dieing. You did NOTHING for me. And for that, I have absolutely no respect for you or any one else in your bleeding family."  
  
"We raised you Harry. can't you just-" came the small squeak of a reply from Aunt Petunia.  
  
"NO, get the fuck out of my house. GO AWAY. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU." Harry bellowed.  
  
"Nero," came the soft comment from the man seated in a corner, "perhaps you should hear them out? Find out why they're here, at very least."  
  
"Nero?" Uncle Vernon asked quietly. "Who the bloody hell is Nero?" He didn't get an answer as Harry and Sev bantered about listening to the muggles.  
  
"Hear them out! Sev, are you out of your mind? Do you know what they did to me when I was a boy?"  
  
"No.at least not entirely. but I will soon, I hope."  
  
"Yes, you will. but I don't intend on talking to them." Harry gestured roughly at his aunt and uncle.  
  
"For me?" Sev batted his eyelashes playfully. "I must admit, I am a little curious."  
  
After running a hand through his hair, and sending fluttering flakes of white dried gel onto his shoulders Harry sighed. "Fine, for you." Muttering under his breath "I do too much for that man. Why do I even bother?" Aloud, once more "You have 5 minutes. Go." Harry looked at his watch and held his wrist up, clearly counting the minutes that his aunt and uncle would be in his presence.  
  
Aunt Petunia chose to waste the precious little time that Harry had given her. "Are you two er. involved." She glanced between the two men, "or are you just friends?"  
  
Harry had just begun to reply when Sev cut in. "Yes, we're involved" the taller man moved to stand behind Harry and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Not that it matters, but we are. Now, that's a good 30 seconds wasted, please, tell us why you're here."  
  
Harry leaned back against Sev, drawing comfort, as his Aunt and Uncle explained why they were there.  
  
"Its my duddykins" Petunia began. "He's sick-"  
  
"Stomach Cancer. Doctors say-"  
  
"It can't be cured. He's gunna-"  
  
"Suffer until he dies, unless we get some help."  
  
"The normal doctors-"  
  
"They can't fix it, say its inoperable-"  
  
Harry stared at his Aunt and Uncle in disbelief. After everything they'd done to him they honestly thought that he'd help them? Were they out of their minds? Even as the thought this Harry asked, "Are you out of your minds? Why should I help you? You did more harm to me then you did good." Harry pulled up his sleeves and put his wrists out so his Aunt and Uncle to see the thin white scars that ran vertically up his arm. His Aunt gasped. Harry shrugged. Sev covered his lovers wrists with his palms, gently rubbing them. "I wouldn't have those scars if it weren't for you," Harry spat at the only blood family he had living. "I nearly died because of you. I have no intention of involving myself with you for any reason. Ever again. I don't even know how I would help you take care of the cancer. Its not my specialty. I don't know the first thing about medi-magic."  
  
Aunt Petunia sniffed, "My mother, your grandmother, died of cancer, you know. While you mother was here. She would have lived if your mum had gotten her the magical help. It was the only thing that would have helped her. You're just like her. Selfish to the core. She wouldn't save the life of her mother and you won't save the life of your cousin. I can't believe you. All of you are the same. Selfish. You won't share your magic unless there's something it for YOU."  
  
"I won't help you because I have not forgiven you for the harm you did me. Your son was worse, yet he only learned it from his parents so I don't entirely blame him, although he is not blameless. Now, before you leave, I have a question to ask you."  
  
"Why should we answer it?"  
  
"Because this is my bloody house and I listened to your twaddle. Now its your turn to answer my question. How in the name of the 9 gates of death did you find me?"  
  
Petunia answered before her husband could shut her up, "Easy, I just followed the string that's always been connected to you." Petunia pointed to a some spot in the air.  
  
"String," Harry asked, confused, "what string?"  
  
"Nero, love," Sev cut in, "remember that potion I taught you about years ago. the one that would allow you to see when magic's present?"  
  
"Yes. of course. I know spells that do the same."  
  
"You may wish to try one of them."  
  
"Why would I want to do that?"  
  
"Just do it, I think you'll understand what your Aunt is saying a little better."  
  
Harry sighed reluctantly and reached for the wand in his pocket, but drew his hand out when he noticed his Aunt and Uncle draw away in fear. "I'm not going to bloody hurt you. Calm down before you have a heart attack."  
  
Pressing the tip of his wand to the tip of his eyelids Harry murmured a spell under his breath. When he opened his eyes again he saw a faint green line that lead directly from his hear to his aunts. "Bloody hell." Harry whispered, shocked.  
  
"I had thought you always knew Harry."  
  
"My. Name. Is. Not. Harry. It. Is. Nero." Harry ground through his teeth. He couldn't stand having them call him Harry. After taking yet another calming breath Harry continued. "I did not always know about it. How did you get that thing?"  
  
"I always assumed it was from whoever left you on our doorstep when you were a baby."  
  
Silently Harry affectionately cursed Dumbledore. "Enough of how you found me. I think this conversation is over and you should leave." After pulling himself away from Sev; Harry walked across the room and gestured to the open doorway, waiting for his Aunt and Uncle to leave.  
  
"Ha-Nero, you won't reconsider will you? You're our last hope. our last chance." Harry's Aunt was trying yet again to get him to help her.  
  
"Absolutely not. Now, please, leave. I will walk you to the entrance so there will be no risk of you getting lost." Harry strode silently from the room, his miserable Aunt and Uncle trailing behind him; if they were puppies their tales would have been between their legs.  
  
Fifteen minutes later Harry returned to his rooms and sat on the couch next to Sev. "It was nice meeting them," came a casual, yet amused, murmur from next to him. "Rather interesting to see your reaction. I don't believe I've ever seen you that upset."  
  
"You asked once, when and why I got these scars. You know now."  
  
"Yes," Sev mused, "I know the general idea, and can piece together more, but I would still like to hear it in your words, the real story."  
  
"Of course you would. I'll get around to it. I swear, but."  
  
"But you're scared and its hard."  
  
"Yes, you know me entirely too well, lover."  
  
Sev groaned. "I hate it when you call me that!"  
  
"What? Lover?" Harry asked playfully.  
  
Again Sev groaned. "Yes, that."  
  
"What, ashamed of it, lover?"  
  
"Nero."  
  
"Yes.?" came the innocent reply.  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"Stop what, lover?"  
  
"Calling me lover!" Oh how Harry loved to tease the man who really was his love.  
  
"Only if you stop calling me Nero when no one else is around."  
  
"What, you don't like being called Nero all of a sudden?"  
  
"I like it just fine, it is my name. but you know my real name, and I like to hear you say it."  
  
"Just minutes ago you yelled at your Aunt and Uncle for calling you Harry and now you're telling me to call you Harry? Make up your mind, would you?"  
  
"I have made up my mind. I want them to not address me at all, but if they must, by Nero. I want you to call me Harry whenever we're alone."  
  
"That could be rather confusing."  
  
"Oh? Why'd you say that?"  
  
"Seems to me that you're connected to you Aunt. Are you ever really alone?"  
  
Harry groaned, "Don't remind me. I don't want to think about the old biddy when I'm in the shower."  
  
Sev laughed softly and leaned over to kiss Harry's cheek. "Then don't think about it. Just go write, you looked lost when I came in to tell you that they were here. Writing will help, you know it will."  
  
"Of course it will. its just. it means I have to find words for everything inside of me. Have you ever noticed that you don't think in only words, but in pictures and smells and tastes. there aren't words to describe everything. I want to tell the story as best I can, but sometimes it just doesn't seem possible."  
  
"Its hard, but I have faith that you'll do better on your story then you ever did on you potions essays."  
  
Harry mad a face and Severus chuckled softly. When Harry stood to walk out of the room, Sev slapped his bum playfully. "Get done for the night, before its too late, if you don't mind."  
  
"I do mind, thank you very much. I will take my time," was the mockingly haughty reply from the green eyed Harry. That said, Harry turned and walked to the library where he firmly shut and locked the door.  
  
After resuming his seat at the desk, Harry lifted a quill from the stand and began to write.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Fifth year went by with out my even realizing it. All of my everyday activities were a blur to me. I went back through archives to find out what happened while I wasn't a part of the world. Gryffindor won the House cup and the Quidditch cup. I suppose that I must have helped win the Quidditch cup, but I can't for the life of me remember a thing. I passed all of my classes with top marks, so I suppose that I must have done some work, sometime. Honestly though, I probably couldn't tell you a think I learned during my fifth year at Hogwarts.  
  
I was like a zombie, a body walking around with no mind of my own. I got by all year long with just over 4 hours of sleep, on average, each night. I'm surprised no one noticed and forced me to take a nap. Then again, maybe they did and I just didn't realize it. It wouldn't be like Hermione to not see something like that.  
  
Nothing amazing happened that year. For the first time, since my introduction to the Wizarding World, no one had directly tried to kill me. Of course, there was always Voldemort to worry about. The ministry still was adamant about refusing to believe that Voldemort could possibly be back. But as a whole, Voldemort didn't even try to kill me. I had no death threats, I wasn't abducted, no one evil was on school grounds. nothing. It was just so normal that it was almost boring. The only thing I had to worry about, on top of my classes and O.W.Ls, was Quidditch.  
  
I think back now, and try to understand all of the little mistakes that could have been why we were forced to fight Voldemort alone. How could we have possibly missed the signs. Fudge was obviously under Voldemort's thumb. It's amazing how such an idiot survived as long as he did. I would think that Voldemort would have no reason to keep such an idiot alive, then again, I'm not a Dark Wizard. I can't even begin to fathom the way their minds work. How is it that Voldemort can twist an idiots mind into his own demented purposes.  
  
On some levels, Dark Wizards have to be respected. They're not stupid. They have a knowledge of their trade and they use it to their advantage. Of course, they don't do the best things with their magic, but they're good at what the do. We respect master painters, and business men, lawyers, and music artists. yet we give absolutely no credit to the Dark Wizard. I'm not saying that its our place to encourage them to do what they do, but we need to understand that they are good at what they do. They're amazingly good at manipulating everyone and everything to get their ways. Some have even been good enough to manipulate prophecies to their own advantage.  
  
Back to my story, and away form my ill formed thoughts.  
  
This summer was far different from my old ones. Everything in the Dursley household was quiet and subdued. Dudley was off at Fat Camp for the summer. The bloke had embarrassed himself by bending over and ripping a hole in the seat of his pants, reviling to all of his class mates that they didn't even make underwear big enough for him. As Aunt Petunia was upset at not being able to be with her "precious duddy-wuddy-kins," everyone was forced to tip toe around. If she was so much as disturbed she went off. For once it wasn't just me that her anger was directed towards. Her husband was put under fire as well. He felt her wrath as she forced him to clean, and clean silently. I should have enjoyed this sight. but I didn't. I was still in a haze and still wishing I could sleep more.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was months before Harry could bring himself to write more. It had been helping him, he knew, but the next part of the story was painful.  
  
Time past and Christmas break came around. It was far too cold to go outside, and Harry felt that it was the perfect time to catch up on some grading. He had just started essays that had been composed by the 5th years on Manticores, when Sev banged into the room and immediately went through to the bedroom. After closing the red ink well, and setting the quill into its holder, Harry got up and walked to the bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe he watched as Sev threw clothing into a bag, hurriedly packing. "Sev, what's wrong? Where are you going?"  
  
Severus paused in his packing for a moment to look at Harry. "You know Kissandra Kyros? Kizzy? She's a 6th year. very smart, but doesn't do any of the work?"  
  
"Yes. Of course." Earlier that morning Harry had read an article in the Daily Profit about the Kyros family. Kizzy's father had just been murdered. He was prominent man Ministry. Surprising, seeing as the Kyros's were a family known for their production of Dark Wizards. Harry had met the man on several occasions, and had always found him to be loving and cheerful. Always the optimist and always supporting of the Ministry. "What about her?"  
  
"She's been arrested."  
  
"What!? Why?"  
  
Sev resumed his packing, but answered Harry's question. "They believe she killed her father."  
  
"Do you think that?"  
  
"No, I know Kizzy. She wouldn't kill her father, and even if she had, his manner of death is far from being anything she'd use. She's very strong in the magic area. no muggle ways for her."  
  
"How was the man killed?"  
  
"Half hung then drawn and quartered. Yet the ministry isn't sure that that was how he died."  
  
"How can you NOT die after you've been drawn and quartered?"  
  
"Its not that. they just don't think that that he was alive when it all started."  
  
"So why do you need to go to her anyway?"  
  
"I just received a letter from Brynn. You know her too. Apparently, Kizzy had been planning on staying with her for Christmas break. She requested that I help get Kiz out so that she can be back in time for school to start."  
  
"I see. and you're going to get Kizzy out. Just how do you intend on doing that?"  
  
"Speed it along, say she needs to be back in time for classes. She's not doing well in all of her classes, and missing school will only hurt her."  
  
"Of course. I don't think she's even passing ONE class."  
  
Sev smiled and nodded before gently flicking his cloak over his shoulders and lifting his bag. "I'll see you when I get back, love. Keep writing." After kissing Harry gently, Sev disappeared through the door and down the hall.  
  
The next couple of hours Harry spent lost in thought, occasional jotting down a few words on the parchment in front of him.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Yes, I was surviving. I was trying. I was challenged. Life was never boring, but sometimes it just gets to be too much. Sometimes life just isn't worth living. When you feel like you're the only one fighting against an evil thing, life just seems like too much. Its overwhelming.  
  
Every moment of ever day, there's something you feel like you should be doing. Some new spell you should be learning. A new way of fighting, another language. Anything, anything that might give you even a slight edge over your enemy. I became obsessed.  
  
I spent hours pouring over text, and getting extra tutoring. The library started to feel more like my home then Gryffindor tower. Every waking minute was spent there. until, one day, I lost it. I couldn't look at the place anymore. Even looking at book made me ill. My eye sight had gotten worse. The Visions from the Dark Lord had continued relentlessly. I'd grown muscles from climbing ladders and lifting books.  
  
I'd read more books and more accounts of deaths and the spells and curses that cause them, then any one person should ever read in a life time. I'd done research. Read all the articles and books and magazines and pamphlets and tablets and anything I could possibly find, on the subject. The stories I read weren't just about Lord Voldemort, oh no, they went back hundreds of years. They went back past the Roman era. I learned Latin so I didn't have to rely on an interpretation. The deaths just might not be as gruesome in the interpretation as they were in the original text. The detail may have been lost. Gods know that English is an unspecific language.  
  
When the day came that I couldn't take it anymore. I just snapped. Suddenly, nothing mattered. I went through life, day by day, one step at a time. I didn't do anything extra. I quit Quidditch, I quite doing homework, I stopped researching, I didn't even bother to tell Dumbledore about my Visions anymore.  
  
By the time all of this came around it was already winter break. Ron had gone home to be with his family. Hermione had volunteered to stay, but I said it'd be a waste of time. After all, the only things I did were, sleep, eat, and read.  
  
During that break, I started to find. destructive ways to demonstrate what I had learned in those books. Those books had made me believe that death was such a free place.  
  
What kind of world is it that we live in when so many terrible things had happened? Men had been half hung and left to dangle from a tree. Criminals had been tied to four horses and the horses set running. Women were burned at the stake because milk curdled in a pail that had been left in the sun. Whole hands had been crushed in a small device that fit over the hand. Feet had been soaked in salt water for 24 hours and then Goats were set free to lick the feet until the feet, bones and all, were gone and the person died from blood loss. Arms and legs were strapped to a manacles and then the chains tightened until the person "stretched." Helpless victims were trapped inside of standing coffins that had been studded with rusty bits of metal and shards of glass and left to stand there. Even the simple act of breathing might cause them to be skewered by the sharp points that protruded from their entrapment. People were hung (inverted) from a pole and a jagged tooth saw was used to saw them in half, the long way. The kinds of tortures and punishments that I found out about continued with out end.  
  
Who wants to live in a world where things like that happened on a regular basis. With the Dark Lord coming back into power there was every possibility that some of those devices would be reimplemented. I came to realize that the depth of human cruelty is endless. We're always trying to out do ourselves with ways to torture others.  
  
If something is slowly introduced to you, you don't realize how just how bad they are. WWII and Hitler's style are a prime example of this. Hitler was not a stupid man. He didn't just jump up on a table and announce, "Alright everyone. Here's what we're going to do, now that I'm in power. First, I'm going to take all the Jews. Yeah, that's right, the doctors and the lawyers, the kids and the grandmas, your best friends even. and we're gunna pack them onto a train. eh, maybe 150 to a single cattle care 200 if we can fit them. We'll lock the door and take them for a trip for maybe three days. They won't get food, they won't get water, they don't even get to get out and go to the bathroom. After they've been on the train and moved to where we need to get them, we'll get them off as quickly as possible. If that means we whip them to move them faster, we whip them. Once they're inside the camps, we'll make them build these huge crematoriums, then we'll have them dig their own mass graves. They'll get a little food (an amount our great nutritionist says they couldn't survive on for more then 3 months). And slowly, we'll kill them all. They might even be able to throw their living mother into the oven themselves. Hey, it'll be a party. What'd you say? Lets get started!"  
  
No, Hitler took his time. Slowly he introduced anti-Semitic ways to his people. He got them to hate the Jews. He made them think that the Jews weren't even human. Then he started his Final Solution. The steps he took were so gradual that people didn't even realize what they were doing. When Hitler was ready to start his mass destructions, cross race relationships were no more. If you were Aryan, you didn't even know a Jew.  
  
That's the way this world is. We're so susceptible to anything that we'll do anything with just a small amount of persuasion.  
  
After all my reading and studying, I realized I didn't want to be a part of that. I didn't want to even risk the small possibility that Voldemort would find that tiny seed of dark that is in my heart, and he would water it until it grew into a vine that took over my entire body, my mind, and my soul.  
  
I was all too human, and I hated it.  
  
Christmas day of my sixth year, I went down to the huge picture of fruit that hid the entrance to the kitchen and tickled the pare. Immediately it opened and I was surrounded by House Elves. I had only one request. A knife, a large knife. They gave it with out question and I escaped. I made the long trek all the way up to Gryffindor tower and hid the knife under my mattress. I wasn't ready to use it, not yet.  
  
I went through the motions, putting on a face, for the rest of Winter break. No one even noticed that something was wrong. Not even a passing glance. The term started again, and my so-called-friends remained oblivious to it. Ron was hardly ever around anyway. He was always busy, with girls he said. Generally, I suffered through the details of his dates. I think back now. and doubt that all of those nights he was with girls, but I can't prove anything, and I don't give damn.  
  
The year wore on, and things got worse. Some days, I didn't even bother to get dressed. I threw my robes on over my pajamas in class. When we started studying poisons in Potions, I lost it. (I'm sorry Sev, its not your fault, you weren't trying to hurt me.) After brewing my first batch of poison I couldn't take it anymore. What kind of monsters are we that we learn these things. Why do we need to kill each other? I didn't want to be a part of it. I wanted OUT.  
  
That night, when everyone was asleep, I slid out of my bed. Sliding my hand under the mattress, I felt around for the knife. Grasping the handle I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Several quick spells were murmured. Now no one could hear in, and more then "alohamora" would be needed to get in.  
  
I grasped the wooden handle of the knife and ran my thumb slowly across the dull gray blade. A slight gasp escaped my lips as red blood welled out of my thumb and over the cutting edge. I smiled grimly and remember thinking "Now that is beautiful." I ran the blade in criss-crosses over my palms and watched the blood drip into the sink, leaving shimmering scarlet paths that ran toward the drain.  
  
That was enough for the first night. I washed the blade off, and cleaned out the sink. After staring at my hands for a moment, I lifted my wand and muttered simple healing spells over them. The beauty of those marks was gone, but the memory remained.  
  
I was punishing the world by punishing myself.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Years later a journalist, named Marion Johnson, would interview Harry, and put it this way.  
  
"The world relied on their Harry Potter. He was their savior. The world had sinned and he took it upon himself to take the punishment they deserved."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: I realize there was a lot of actually story happening, not Harry remembering in this chapter. Do you like it, or should I have more remembering?  
  
A/N: Many of the torture devices mentioned are explained in more depth (incase any of you are actually interested in it) at www.corkscrew-balloon.com . 


	5. Potions

Facing the Past  
  
Chapter Five: Potions  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Late that night, Harry stood and stretched. His watch told him it was nearly midnight. With one last look at the stack of papers on the table, Harry shook his head and walked into the bedroom.  
  
About to take his shirt off, Harry realized his hand was covered in ink. Making a face, he wandered into the bathroom to wash his hands. The warm water ran into his cupped palm then filtered slowly through his fingers. Using the bar of soap, Harry scrubbed his hands clean, and watched the red tinted water swirl down the sink, thinking of the first time he'd seen rivers of red in stark relief against white marble.  
  
Sharply, Harry shook his head, forcing the thoughts from his mind. Harry pulled his shirt off over his head, and, with unceremonious movements, he yanked his belt free of his pants, letting them drop to his ankles. Stalking over to the shower, he turned the faucet on letting the water come streaming out at the hottest temperature it would allow. After pushing his boxers off, Harry stepped into the steaming blast and let it wash over him.  
  
"Damn you, Severus! Damn you!" Harry spoke to the shower wall as he let the waterfall on his head. "You make me write out my story, and just as I'm getting to the really bad part, you decide to disappear?" Harry scrubbed his face.  
  
Part of Harry knew that Sev hadn't gone fully on his own choice. Another part of Harry knew that it was really for his student that Sev had gone. And still another part knew that Sev wasn't really gone. just away for a few days. Pausing in his movements, Harry realized that Kizzy wasn't a part of Slytherin House. "What the hell?" Harry asked himself. "She's a Ravenclaw! Since when does Sev care about anyone that isn't from his own house?"  
  
Confused, Harry got out of the shower and wrapped up in one of the green towels hanging on the shower door.  
  
Hearing someone in his front room, Harry stooped to pick up his wand. After wrapping the towel tightly around his waist, Harry went to investigate.  
  
Sitting on the couch looking at the parchment Harry had left out was Hermione. "Hermione!" Harry stomped over and closed the folder over the top.  
  
Hermione looked up, "Well, you left it open and I could hear that you were in the shower. What did you expect me to do, ignore it?" She grinned.  
  
Shaking his head, Harry responded, "No, I guess that I couldn't keep an inquisitive mind like yours out of something that was in plain sight. How much did you read?"  
  
"Only the first couple of lines, that's all."  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes, looking at her closely then relaxed. "All right, what can I do for you?"  
  
"Can't an old friend just stop by to talk?"  
  
"Of course they can, but that's not why you're here."  
  
"Harry Potter, you know me entirely too well."  
  
Harry shrugged, and in so doing realized he was still wearing nothing but a towel. Blushing, "Hermione? Would you excuse me for a minute?"  
  
"Sure. Go put some clothes on." Hermione's eyes turned to the few rows of books in the front room. "I'll just find a book to read while I'm waiting."  
  
As Hermione found a book on the shelf that caught her attention, Harry shook his head and went to change.  
  
In his bedroom Harry quickly found a pair of pajama pants and a white t- shirt to put on. After toweling dry his hair, he hung the towel up in the bathroom to dry.  
  
Wand tucked into the waist of his pajama pants, Harry went into the front room. "So, what was it you needed?"  
  
Hermione was seated on the edge of the coffee table, reading a book about Advanced Hexes. "Huh? Oh, I needed to talk to Severus, actually. Can I borrow this?"  
  
After taking a glance at the cover, Harry nodded. "Enjoy it. As for Sev, he's not home. He just went out a couple of hours ago to find out what's going on with Kissandra Kyros."  
  
"Oh god, what did she do now? Wait-she's home for the Holidays, isn't she?"  
  
"Well, she was home, right now she's enjoying the cells of Azkaban."  
  
Hermione yelped, "What?! Why?!"  
  
"Your guess really is as good as mine. Sev said something about her father being murdered and the Aurors think it's her for some reason. Sev thinks he can get her off." Harry shrugged. "How exactly he's going to do that, I've no clue.  
  
"So, did you need something that I might be able to help you with?"  
  
"Can you get into his potions lab?"  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow in a half amused half questioning look. "Of course I can, what did you need out of there, Headmistress?"  
  
"Just a potion for headaches. I have a feeling I'll be needing a good one soon."  
  
"Oh? Any reason for that?"  
  
"Nothing specific. its just intuition and I learned long ago to listen to my intuition." She looked pointedly at Harry's wrists.  
  
"Yeah. well, what'cha gunna do about it?"  
  
"Nothing, obviously."  
  
"Well, anyway, I can get into his potions lab, but unless I know exactly what I'm looking for I'm pretty useless. Sev puts his potions in weird vials and has a tendency to leave them unlabeled if they can't get mixed up with something else."  
  
Sighing Hermione asked, "Well, when do you expect him home?"  
  
"He only took enough for a couple of nights so I'd say by the end of the week."  
  
"All right, I'll come talk to him on Friday."  
  
"Night, Hermione."  
  
Hermione kissed him on the forehead. "Night, Harry."  
  
Harry walked Hermione to the door before talking a seat on the couch. Harry had just unscrewed the lid to his ink when he as hit by an attack of yawns. Cursing, Harry gave up and went to bed.  
  
Curled up in the big empty bed Harry stared at the ceiling, suddenly not tired anymore. Everything he'd written was still going through his mind. He longed to have Sev hold him and tell him it was all OK; Remind him that it was all in the past.  
  
Eventually Harry fell into a troubled sleep.  
  
The next morning Harry tumbled out of bed with a groan. Yanking the blanket off the foot of the bed, Harry settled it around his shoulders and stumbled into the front room to make tea. Still tired he settled back into an overstuffed armchair, cradling the mug in his hands, warming them.  
  
"Before Sev gets home I'll have at least one more chapter," Harry told himself. Then sat back and enjoyed his tea.  
  
Drink gone and hands warm, Harry settled in to write. Picking up one of the ballpoint pens he'd learned to love while he'd been away, and attaching plain old Xerox paper to a clipboard, Harry wiggled into a comfortable position in the chair and began to write.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The year continued. I was just as lost as before, but some how I was more relaxed, more calm. Life still sucked. People still sucked, but I had found a way to deal with that.  
  
When things got too hard to handle, I'd wait in bed until everyone went to sleep. Then I'd get up, reach between the mattresses and find the wooden handled knife, slip into the bathroom and lock the door.  
  
After the first time, just standing in the bathroom, holding the shimmering blade was enough- at least for a while anyway.  
  
One night, two months after I'd started cutting my palms, I had another vision. It was a Voldemort administering a potion to Ministry official, a man I had a vague suspicion was part of the Order. The man, obviously, refused to take it so Voldemort had him held down and his head tilted back with his mouth forced open.  
  
After swallowing this potion it ran first like fire then ice through his veins. As the cold melted away the man felt his muscles melting with it. Soon his skin began to smoke turn to ash, and curl away like burning paper. His head went unaffected by the potion. He was alive and screaming until he passed out. When the potion was done doing its work, all that was left was his head attached to a skeleton and a small pile of ash.  
  
I woke with a start, still hearing Voldemort's maniacal laugh in my head. How can people do that to one another! How could someone help Voldemort torture someone like that? HOW! HOW? Frustrated and disgusted with the world I climbed out of bed.  
  
"People want me to be their savior," I muttered. "Yeah, well, fuck them! They want someone to save their skins while they live in fear of something like that happening to their family? I SEE it! I have to see it happening! All they hear about is what happened afterward."  
  
I shoved the bed covers up and thrust my hand between the mattresses until I found the blade. It nipped my finger, making me give a horrible smile of pleasure. God, what kind of monster had I turned into?  
  
Knife in hand, I made my way to the bathroom. Quietly I shut the door and set the spells I always used on it.  
  
Holding the blade to the light from the candles in their sconces on wall I examined it from different angles. The steel blade was still perfectly polished. Sometimes, when I was all alone in the dorm room, I'd take out the cloth I'd once used to polish my Firebolt and polish the blade of the knife.  
  
It was my lifeline. It was an oxymoron. The blade was something that could so easily have taken me from the world, and yet it was really one of the few things that were holding me in it.  
  
Once I was certain there was no rust on the blade, I put it to the skin that covered the heel of my hand, and just let it sit there while I felt the cold hard steel touch my skin. Slowly I drew the blade along my skin, not letting it cut me, simply enjoying the kiss of steel. As the tip reached the outer side of my hand I let it knick the skin; just enough for one drop of blood to well up then drop, lonely, into the pure white marble of the sink. Immediately I pressed my thumb to the cut, stopping the bleeding.  
  
Knife still in my right hand, I turned my left hand over and made a fist. Holding the handle of the knife, I took the blade to my knuckles. For each word, I made a slice. "For," a slice across my thumb. "The," another across my index finger. "Pain," this one on the knuckle of my middle finger. "You," my ring finger. "Can't," the knuckle of my pinky. Five cuts across the bone. "Prevent," a long line across the very back of my hand.  
  
Slowly I straightened my hand out and just held it over the sink. As my heart beat, the blood welled up around my knuckles and back of my hand. At first it just stayed on the back of my hand, then slowly it started dripping through my fingers. I could feel the sticky redness on my inner palm, but I didn't turn it over. I was fascinated by the blood on the back of my hand. It was red. It was shiny. The red wasn't the bright red you see in the movies. No, this red was a deep red. Vaguely I can remember wondering if that was because I had a black heart.  
  
When the blood started to dry, I'd touch it with the tip of my finger, just enough to stop the blood from clotting. The blood gathered at the pads of my palm, and slowly begin to fall, drop by drop, into the sink: staining it red.  
  
With the index finger of my right hand, I touched the blood on my knuckles, then turned my palm over, exposing my white wrist. I drew a line up my arm, tracing the blue vein from wrist to elbow. I used my nail to raise a red welt that would last longer than the blood on my wrist.  
  
For a while, I just stared. Taking in the sight of blood on my forearm. Letting the blood from my knuckles drip into the sink.  
  
"My god," I thought, "what kind of hero are you? You can't do anything! You're stuck in a school, for 'your own protection' while people are out their dying. You can't even begin to understand the kind of fear they have. You don't have a family that might be caught by Death Eaters, which might be one of the Death Eaters, which might be killed by Death Eaters. Nothing! Nothing! What kind of hero can't even begin to relate to the people he's supposed to be protecting? Boy-who-lived my ass! More like boy-who-ran- away."  
  
Furious with myself, I cast the knife down and begin cleaning up the mess from my blood. I longed to take that knife in my hand and slice deep through my forearms, shredding the skin to the point that even Madam Pomfrey, wonderful medi-nurse that she is, wouldn't be able to help me. But, no, NO! I felt helpless now, but there would be absolutely nothing I could do if I were to kill myself.  
  
Sometimes death is the only way to solve a problem, but killing yourself? Killing myself? Not like this, not now. This wasn't how I was supposed to go. Still. the cold blade on my skin. the sight of my blood spilling out, god, I felt more alive when I was seeing that than I did any other time.  
  
The pain was just a way to remind myself that there really was a part of the world. It wasn't the same pain, the same fear, that the rest of the wizarding world felt, but it was the closet I could get while stuck here at Hogwarts.  
  
Carefully I ran the blade under the warm water, rinsing away any sign of my internal struggles. Using the hem of my shirt, I dried the blade quickly, but thoroughly. When I heard a knock at the bathroom door I jumped, nearly dropping the blade. "Hold on a minute!"  
  
"Mmrmph!" came the sleepy reply from the other side of the door.  
  
Looking around franticly I spied the shower. Quickly I jumped in the tub and turned on the water, leaving the knife sitting on the tile floor I threw my clothes over the shower curtain, making a pile. With a wave of my wand, I unraveled the spells I'd put on the door. "Come in!" I called. Peering around the shower curtain I spotted Ron come in the room, half stumbling with sleep.  
  
"Why're you taking a shower now, Harry?" he asked. "It's late. Couldn't you wait til morning?"  
  
Ron stumbled into a cubical.  
  
"I couldn't sleep and I really felt like I needed a shower is all."  
  
"Uh huh." Ron came out of the stall and went to wash his hands. Looking at the counter top he spotted a little bit of blood. "Did you hurt yourself, Mate?"  
  
I jumped, startled. "Huh? Oh, yeah," I lied, "I accidentally hit the sink with my knuckles. I thought I'd cleaned it all up."  
  
"Oh, well, you missed a spot."  
  
"I guess I did." I was pretending to wash my hair now.  
  
"Hurry up, Harry, it's late. G'night."  
  
"Night, Ron."  
  
"Mmhmm." Half asleep, Ron went back into the boys dormitory and to bed.  
  
Alone once more, I sagged against the wall. "That was close," I thought. Reaching behind me turned off the water and stepped out of the water. I found a towel and secured it around my waist. Bending low, I picked up the knife.  
  
With one last look at my bleeding hand I cast a charm to stop the bleeding and prevent any scarring. Briefly I wondered what would happen if I didn't try to cover up my cuts; if I didn't heal them so quickly afterward. Who would notice?  
  
After poking my head out of the bathroom door to make sure that Ron was indeed asleep I again, I made my way over to my bed and slipped the knife back into its hiding place. As quietly as possible, I found clean boxers and pajamas then crawled into bed.  
  
I was quickly asleep, emotionally, and physically, exhausted.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Speaking of exhaustion," Harry muttered, then yawned. Tossing the pen and paper onto the table Harry got up and stretched. Sleep sounded good about then. Blanket still wrapped around his shoulders Harry collapsed on the couch and as soon asleep.  
  
Several hours later Harry was awake again, and dressed. The pile of homework assignments he had to grade hadn't magically diminished while he wrote.  
  
"I suppose I should get started on those." With a groan Harry sat up and started grading the piles of homework.  
  
Sometime later Harry's stomach reminded him that he hadn't really eaten anything all day. Harry got to his feet and went to find something suitable to wear to dinner.  
  
Dinner was quiet. Most of the teachers had remained at Hogwarts for the winter break, but very few students had opted to stay. Harry looked around with mild amusement and noted that while there was only one table, all of the students, and even the staff members, had separated themselves into their different houses.  
  
As usual, Harry took the place that was at the very end of the Gryffindor side and at the very beginning of the Slytherin group. This was his place. Even after all these years, Harry was uncertain that the Sorting Hat had truly put him in the right place. One side Gryffindor (the side he liked to show the world) and the other Slytheirn (the part that he kept hidden).  
  
Conversation at the dinner table was mild. Hermione was deep in conversation with the Head Girl, Alicia Neguyn, about her personal statement. It seemed that Alicia was planning on attending Muggle School after her graduation from Hogwarts.  
  
At the other end of the table Oliver was busily engrossed in his conversation with Colin Creevy about quidditch. Colin had been obsessed with getting a yearbook started for Hogwarts, and wanted desperately to get Oliver to help him pose the quidditch teams for their pictures.  
  
Harry groaned silently. Nothing very interesting was happening at his part of the table. Quickly Harry finished his meal, hoping to get back to his rooms in time to finish the three assignments he had yet to grade, and get another bit of writing done.  
  
As Harry rose from the table, Hermione touched his arm. "A moment please, Nero?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course."  
  
"Have you any news from Severus about when he'll be getting home?"  
  
"No, I'm sorry, Hermione, I haven't heard from him. I'll make sure that he calls on you as soon as I can."  
  
"Thanks, Nero."  
  
With a wave, Harry made his way back to his rooms in the dungeon.  
  
He quickly read and graded the reports from the 6th years about.  
  
Leaning over to the small table next to the couch Harry pulled out his folder. After clearing a spot on the coffee table, Harry set to work, once again getting into his story.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The next morning was a potions class. Potions. Oh god, potions. I dreaded that class. I hated it. I hated the subject. I hated all the smells. I hated the teacher. During my years as a student attending Hogwarts, potions was one of the worst classes I'd ever taken.  
  
Earlier I may have forced myself to work hard in potions, to excel, but now, now I couldn't take it. I'd seen what potions could be used for.  
  
Pain, suffering. no, we didn't need any more of that in the world. Just teaching students how to brew potions was, I thought, like teaching them that they have the skill to cause such horrible things to happen. These potion classes were taking them one step closer to the dark side of the wizarding world.  
  
It didn't matter that most of the potions Snape taught us to create would actually be far more helpful than harmful. It didn't matter that sometimes potions were more effective for healing than spells. None of it mattered. I didn't trust the world to see that part.  
  
So I stopped going.  
  
I just stopped. I couldn't look at another vial of any kind of elixir. All of it, all of it seemed like it had the potential to hurt me. To hurt someone I loved.  
  
At least with Defense Against the Dark Arts, it really was defense. When they taught, all of those teachers, us a new spell or a new kind of defense they taught it with the intention of us using it for our defense. They gave us that warning.  
  
It was the warning I got in Defense Against the Dark Arts that I craved to hear from Snape. But no, warning his students was not his style. His job was to present the information and let his students make of it what they will.  
  
Well, I did think about his information. I thought about it long and hard, and I decided that there were better ways to teach. Even if he only taught the first or second years, it would be better than nothing. Before anyone can be expected to make any good decisions they must be first taught how to weigh the consequences of each choice. I didn't feel that those lessons that were taught to us in other classes were fully connected to potions. On top of that, there was my simply dislike of the professor.  
  
All in all, there was nothing to get me to go to that class: nothing. I didn't like potions. I didn't like the teacher. I could always see my friends any other time. That's not to mention the fact that the class was taught double with Slytherin, definitely not a reason to want to go to it.  
  
Three weeks after I stopped going to potions, Professor McGonagall called me into her office. When I got there she didn't even bother asking why I didn't go to class. She simply told me off and informed me that I had one month of detention every night of the school week and I had to see Snape about making up with my work. Failure to comply with either punishment would result in me being stuck to the side of a teach of her choosing for the remainder of the year.  
  
As soon as the door shut behind me, I was grumbling. "Damn her! What does she know! She thinks she understands anything that happens to me. She wants to do the best for me my ass. She wouldn't know the best if it bit her ass!"  
  
I used my anger to go talk to Snape. I knocked once, sharply, at his door.  
  
"Come in."  
  
I banged open the door and stood there.  
  
Slowly he raised an eyebrow, "Yes, Potter?"  
  
I hated being called Potter, esspcaily by Snape. He made it sound like a dirty name. He said "Potter" like he was saying "fucker" or "whore." It was like he was reminding me I was a Potter, the way a racist man reminds a black person of their place by calling them "nigger." When normal people said it, it was like being reminded of all my failures and all the expectations the world had put on me.  
  
"I would like to make up my work, Professor." I spit out the last word. He wasn't worthy of that title. He didn't teach his students anything but fear, and that was not what he was being paid for.  
  
"That's nice," he smirked at me then went back to his paper work.  
  
I stood there, waiting.  
  
Several minutes later he looked up. "Well?" he asked.  
  
"I'd like to make up my work, Sir."  
  
"So you said already." And he went back to his work.  
  
I swore silently to myself, "Fuck, he's going to make me actually ask him for this isn't he? I don't need this!" I started to turn then remembered McGonagall's words, and not wanting to if she was serious, I turned back to my Professor.  
  
It took me a few minutes to gather my courage. I had just opened my mouth again when Snape said, "Are you finished staring at me, Potter?"  
  
I turned deep red with anger, I'm sure. I bit my cheek, holding in the comments I would have loved to make to him. With a deep breath I responded, "No, Sir."  
  
The main actually looked amused. "Aw fuck. here goes nothing," I thought. Aloud, "Sir, can I make up my work?"  
  
"No, I don't believe so."  
  
I was stunned. "NO? NO! How could he tell me, Harry fucking Potter, no?" I swallowed once then asked, "Sir?"  
  
"Did I not make myself clear, Potter? I said: 'no, I don't believe so.'"  
  
"Please, Sir?" I asked. What did he mean no I couldn't make it up? How could he do that to me?  
  
"There's nothing to explain."  
  
That pissed me of. There sure as hell was something to explain. I left. I left and didn't even bother to shut the door behind me. He didn't want to give me the work and let me make it up? Fine. FINE! I didn't need him.  
  
All the way up to Gryffindor tower I thought about Snape. I thought about what I said. Just about to say the password to The Pink Lady I groaned and mumbled.  
  
"Sorry dear," she said, "that's not the right password."  
  
I rolled my eyes and sprinted back down the corridors to the Potions Lab. Once again I knocked on Snape's door. "Sir?"  
  
"Go away, Potter. I already gave you my answer."  
  
"I'd like to change my question."  
  
"Oh? Come in then, I'm not accustomed to having conversations through closed doors."  
  
Slowly I opened the door. Just as slowly I closed it behind me and leaned back against it.  
  
"You were saying you planned on asking a different question?"  
  
"Sir, may I try to make up my work."  
  
Snape smiled a slow smile. Perhaps that was the start of the change in our relationship? Who knows? Too many things were happening.  
  
"Very good, Potter. You caught on much faster than I thought you would."  
  
"Yes sir." I nodded dumbly.  
  
"The problem, however, is still present. I do not believe you are capable of making up your work."  
  
"Sir?" I was as confused as ever.  
  
"Why've you been cutting-"  
  
Cutting? Oh god, did he know? How could he know? I looked down at my hands, frantic to see that there wasn't blood on them. To be sure that there weren't any new scars. There weren't. My god! How did he know? Could he see through walls? Was he in the bathroom of the Gryffindor rooms? Behind the mirror maybe? Was there a secret passage?  
  
"-my class, Harry?"  
  
I almost let out a sigh. That was close. that was scary actually.  
  
After taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth, about to lie, then thought better of it. Seeing this, Snape offered me a seat with a calm gesture. I took the offer and sat down across from him.  
  
Snape went back to work while I thought. Several minutes later I began to explain myself to him. I told him about all my thoughts on his potions class. Every last one of them, not sparing him a sing detail. To his credit, he listened to all of it. He didn't make any comments until I was finished.  
  
"You know, Harry."  
  
"Whoa," I thought, "back up a second. Since when does Snape call me Harry?!"  
  
"You know, Harry, sometimes I think the same thing about people."  
  
I nodded dumbly. "You're different though. You've started to show me that you really do think. You can make up all of the points you missed while you cut my class, if you can do a few things for me."  
  
"Uh huh." I nodded dumbly.  
  
"I want you to write an essay about a potion that can be used two ways. A potion that can be used for good but that can also be used for horrible things. Then I want you to brew it. If you do it properly, and you write me a decent essay, I'll let your transgressions go."  
  
A potion that can be used for both? I was confused; I didn't think such a thing existed. Either it was good or it was not. How could there possibly be a middle ground with potions. It was what it was, and nothing could change that.  
  
I accepted anyway. "When do you want it sir?"  
  
"I want the essay by the first day after winter break. I want you in here to do your potion that Friday."  
  
I nodded and stood up, about to leave, "Why, sir?"  
  
"Maybe I'll explain that to you someday. For now, get out, Potter, I've got work to do."  
  
So I left. To this day, Snape has never explained to me why he did it. I can guess now, but it's not the same. There's no certainty in it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry ruffled his own hair, thinking, "That wasn't too bad."  
  
He immediately got back to work.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
So I started researching. The time I used to use for staring at my bed curtains started to have a purpose. I used that time for research.  
  
As soon as classes were dismissed for the day, I went to the library. I even started going to Snape's class again, if only because I was hoping he'd somehow give me the answer. Ron teased me about turning into Hermione; I ignored him, possibly pushing him further away.  
  
I admit, I was curious. Where would I find a potion that could do both things? Where would I find it? What would it be? The curiosity ate at me. I had to know.  
  
As winter break drew near, I began to despair. I finally worked up the courage to talk to Snape again. After dinner one night I knocked softly at his door.  
  
"Come in," he called sharply.  
  
I came in and looked around quietly until he addressed me. "Did you need something, Potter?"  
  
I almost lost my courage, "No-well, yes, sir, you can."  
  
He waved his hand vaguely at me, sort of saying "well, get on with it."  
  
"I'd like access to the Restricted Section, Sir." He raised his eyebrows. "I want to look in those books, I've looked through all the other potion books there are in the library."  
  
"You still haven't found a potion yet, Potter?" He was being sarcastic. There was something I was missing that the thought should have been right on the surface, easy to see.  
  
"No, Sir," I said quietly.  
  
"Well, I don't like to give access to the Restricted Section." I nodded dumbly, thinking I wasn't going to get my points back after all. "But, you can use my collection." He nodded to the space behind me.  
  
I turned to look. What once had been shelves of slimy gross stuff in liquid was now row after row of books. "What the-"  
  
Snape smirked, "I don't like to make my collection public knowledge Potter, people might want to break into my office, and we couldn't have that, now could we?"  
  
I blushed uncomfortably; back in second year we'd done just that. Oops.  
  
"Well, go ahead, you don't have much time left Potter."  
  
So I went to find some books. About to leave, I stopped and looked at Snape; it looked like he was grading papers. "I'll bring them back to you soon, Sir."  
  
"Yes," he drawled, "I assumed you would other wise I would not have lent them to you."  
  
I left then, and climbed all the stairs all the way up to Gryffindor Tower. I gave the Pink Lady the password (dandelions) and slipped into the common room. Ignoring everyone, I went up to my bed and sat down.  
  
Slowly I began flipping through the books. "A potion," I muttered to myself, "that can be used for good and evil? Did he expect this assignment to be easy?"  
  
For a good hour I did nothing but look through those books. About to give up, I noticed that the last book in the pile was a book called Potions. From the looks of it, it was a simple household use potion. "Guess I must have accidentally picked that one up." I shrugged and tossed it aside. The book opened to a page with large black print words at the top: Confusing Concoction. "Huh." I read the description.  
  
The effect, obviously, is to cause confusion.  
  
Yeah, well, confusion I had enough of. I was about to close the book when it hit me.  
  
"DUH!" I smacked myself in the forehead. "I'm such a loser."  
  
Everything, you see, can be used as a double-edged knife, so to speak. The Confusing Concoction, Swelling Solutions. EVERYTHING  
  
The point is not what you have made, but how you use it when it is made. Now that I think about, just about everything is the same way. It doesn't matter what spells you know, or what books you've read. All that matters is you use it the right way. Snape, it seemed, understood this as well as I thought I had. Well, I'd solved my problem.  
  
So I wrote my essay. A two-foot essay in writing in a size and precision of which Hermione herself would have been proud. All through winter break I worked on it. It was great. I did research on the history of the Confusing Connection. More than its history and its making, however, I concentrated on how it could be used for both good and bad.  
  
Say, perhaps, that the Confusing Concoction was placed into Voldemort's hands. Things would be very bad then. He could make everyone confused enough to play right into his hands. Now in Dumbledor's hands, the results would be very different. Dumbledoor could use it to give to some known, but un-proven Death Eater and convince them to confess.  
  
Yes, that was my first lesson in using a double-edged weapon. Good and bad, light and dark, all in one. rather like me.  
  
"And now," I thought, "I just have to make this potion for Snape."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Harry threw down his pen and scrubbed his face. With that Harry went to bed. His sleep went interrupted by only the usual nightmares, the kind he hadn't been with out since he in his fourth year. Nothing unusual haunted Harry, at least not this night. 


End file.
